


365 Days of Mystrade

by CommunionNimrod, Copgirl1964, GooberFeesh



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Diogenes Club, Greaserlock, Greg Lestrade & John Watson Friendship, Greg has two daughters, Greg loves freckles, Greg's cheating wife - Freeform, Holmes Brothers, Hospitalization, Illnesses, Jealousy, Kidnapping, Kinky Mycroft, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mycroft and The Queen are bros, Mycroft gets turned on when Greg works out, Mycroft leg worship, Parentlock, Phone Sex, Pining, Reichenbach Falls, Sally and Anthea plot things, Sex, Sherlock Being Protective, Sherlock plays matchmaker, Sussex retirement, Tattoos, Winglock, a day in the life, all the sex, football and cuddles, holiday celebrations, mention of Sherlock's "suicide", mutual sickness, original Lestrade-Holmes child, parentstrade, sex and laughter, teen!strade AU, wedding anniversary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-14 20:55:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 365
Words: 319,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1278532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommunionNimrod/pseuds/CommunionNimrod, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Copgirl1964/pseuds/Copgirl1964, https://archiveofourown.org/users/GooberFeesh/pseuds/GooberFeesh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A drabble a day for the entire year.  No chronological order, just a peek into the lives of Mycroft Holmes and Greg Lestrade.  Any and all scenarios are possible, including different AUs.  Building a family, establishing relationships, celebrating holidays... Sexy, angsty, fluffy, fun.  Anything under the sun is a possibility.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New Years

The first thing that assaulted Greg the moment he woke up was an intense headache. He groaned, shutting his eyes tight even though he’d never opened them, and tried assessing the situation. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d celebrated the New Year like last night. It had meant to be a simple office party, but they all got drunk way too fast. He was trying to gather himself, figure everything out, and…

The sheets he was laying in did not feel familiar. His brow furrowed, and finally he forced his eyes open to very unfamiliar surroundings. Oh shit, who the fuck had he ended up going home with? You would think he was a teenager again. He glanced down at his bare torso, and caught sight of his clothes strewn across the floor, and then the umbrella in the corner.

The…umbrella?

That was Mycroft Holmes’ umbrella.

His brown eyes widened and his mouth dropped. He had invited Mycroft to the party, sure, and he had been insanely surprised when the posh man had actually shown up. He’d been having really attached, intimate thoughts of the politician for a while, but had been resigned that it would never get anywhere. Except, it seemed that it had. He’d gone home with Mycroft. How much had they both had??

He was startled out of his thoughts as the man in question walked into the bedroom, holding two steaming mugs. He was wearing a dark blue robe tied tightly around his waist, and his usual perfect hair was messy with sleep, and what Greg recalled other, more fun activities. His fine eyebrows rose as they made eye contact.

“Ah, Inspector,” Mycroft started, his voice smooth and yet, uncertain. “Coffee?”

Greg sat up slowly, a grin sliding onto his face. He reached out to take the drink, and shifted over as he was joined back on the bed.

“I think we’re past such formalities now, don’t you?” he questioned. “Please. Greg.”

“Fair enough, Gregory.”

Greg rolled his eyes and chuckled. He took a few sips of his coffee before setting it aside and turning to face the younger man.

“So, last night…” he started, a bit awkwardly.

“Can be as much or as little as you prefer.” Mycroft had taken on his normal, guarded tone. One he used when they discussed cases or Sherlock. He was almost noticeably rigid, and he wasn’t looking at him.

“Yes,” the older of the two said slowly, softly. His tone was enough to make Mycroft look at him, his eyes strangely curious. “As much as I’d prefer…”

Before Mycroft had the chance to say anything more, Greg leaned in and captured his thin lips in a gentle, passionate kiss that spoke volumes for them both.


	2. Waking Up Alone

Greg Lestrade always went to sleep with company, but he almost always woke up alone.

It was a strange thing. One he wasn’t used to. You think he’d be used to it by now, but he still wasn’t. When he’d been previously married, they either got up together or he was up first, making coffee or grabbing a quick bite or a shower before having to go in on a case. Now, however, he was the one waking up second.

Mycroft Holmes worked for the British government. Even after them being in a serious relationship for over two years, Greg still did not know exactly what he was responsible for. He probably would never know. He was okay with that. As a Detective Inspector, he was well aware of the need for secrets and discretion. Unfortunately, those secrets ran plenty with Mycroft. They could never converse about each other’s day fully. The biggest problem was the hours, however.

Many times, Mycroft would have to go out of country, and not be back for a week or two at a time. When he was home, most of the time they would curl up together and fall asleep cozily, or collapse after a satisfying bout of sex and pass out. They would sleep in each other’s arms, exchange soft kisses and cuddles, and Greg would sleep soundly.

Without fail, he would not wake up the same way. If he were lucky, Mycroft would still be in the house. There were times where he would even catch him in a half state of dress, having just been roused by his mobile not too long before with the news of having to go in. His partner would always smile sweetly at him in the dark, shush him softly, and request for him to go back to sleep with a kiss. Greg, drowsy as he was, would comply.

Greg would never complain. Not to Mycroft, anyway. He would complain to Sally over coffee on a particularly grumpy morning, or to John after a pint or two, but never to Mycroft. Not that it mattered. The man knew anyway. He always knew; he was a Holmes. He refused to complain regardless. As frustrating as it could be, he wouldn’t trade his relationship with Mycroft for anything in the world.

This frustration, however, made mornings like the current one the most amazing gift on the face of the planet. When Greg woke and found himself warmer than normal, he couldn’t help but smile and shift, turning into the warmth of his lover’s body. Mycroft was still asleep, one pale arm slung over his waist, his face buried in his pillow. It was rare that Greg ever woke before Mycroft, and it was something he took full advantage of. Turning slowly onto his side, he gazed at the serene face next to him. 

Unable to resist, he reached up and ran his fingers through Mycroft’s soft, ginger hair. While it was a brief, light action, it woke the younger man up regardless. He was a light sleeper; though Greg supposed it made sense with his job and with having grown up with Sherlock as a brother. Pale, blue eyes shifted to look at him, still full of sleep, but he smiled.

“G’morning Gregory,” he mumbled, his articulation not as its best while still half asleep. It was adorable, and it made Greg’s own smile widen.

“Mornin’,” Greg returned, scooting closer and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Don’t have any worlds to save this morning?”

“Thankfully no,” the elder Holmes chuckled, tightening his grip around Greg’s waist and pulling them against one another.

“Yes, very thankfully.” Greg didn’t get the chance to laze around in bed with Mycroft much. He would take what he could get.

“I apologize, Gregory, I-“

“It’s fine,” Greg interrupted. He knew what Mycroft was going to apologize for, and he wasn’t going to hear it. They never talked about never waking up together. They never needed to. It was part of his job, and he did good work (whatever it was), so Greg would have none of it. “Let’s just enjoy it, yeah?”

“Yes. Yes, let’s do just that.”

Curling together, they kissed sleepily; soft, gentle, and unhurried kisses. Mycroft ran his hand up and down Greg’s bare back as they kissed, before laying their heads together on the pillow and dozing in and out together.

Greg almost always woke up alone. But when he didn’t, they were the best mornings he could have ever asked for.


	3. Coffee

It was bloody freezing. It was 2 in the morning, and it was so cold the rain was starting to turn into sleet. How Sherlock Holmes could be flitting around the crime scene as enthusiastically as he was, Greg would never know. He stood there, hands shoved in his coat pockets, head down to try and keep his face somewhat dry, his breath coming out in puffs. John stood nearby, looking even less pleased to be out. Why did the best murders have to happen in the worst conditions, he had been asked. Greg just rolled his eyes.

His scarf was tugged tightly around his neck, but it wouldn’t stave off the chill enough on its own. He was bracing himself for the illness that would follow. Unfortunately, this was his job, and he was here, so he just needed to make the best of it.

Sherlock was in the middle of a lightning fast deduction, waving his hands around and pacing as he usually did, when he stopped mid-sentence and made a noise of irritated disgust. Greg looked up, brow furrowed, confused as to what had happened. He looked at Sherlock, and then twisted to follow his line of sight. Off in the distance stood a slender form under an umbrella, a drink in hand. Greg could feel his chest tighten in excitement.

“Be right back,” he muttered, and made his way out of the taped off area. Back at the body, John raised an eyebrow, confused.

“What on earth?” he asked, looking to Sherlock, who rolled his eyes and crouched back down in front of the corpse.

“They’re shagging, obviously. It’s awful.” John made a surprised noise in his throat and gaped at the two older men, who were now standing together under the large, black umbrella.

“I always tell you to get an umbrella,” Mycroft fussed at Greg, holding out the coffee he’d brought. “Coffee?”

“You’re a life saver,” Greg sighed, taking the hot drink and bringing it up to his lips. The relieved sigh that followed was a sinful noise, to be sure.

“You’re going to be sick,” the elder Holmes pointed out, raising a single eyebrow and giving him that knowing stare.

“I’ll be fine,” Greg waved off, even though he knew he wouldn’t be.

“Come to mine tonight.” It wasn’t a request, not really. Mycroft Holmes hardly ever asked. Not that he ever minded.

“No idea when I’ll be done…” Greg started, but he was smiling.

“Come back to mine, Gregory.”

“I’d love to.”

And then Mycroft did something he rarely did. Leaning in, he reached out and took hold of Greg’s waist, and kissed him gently. In public. After a shocked, delayed moment, Greg returned the kiss, wrapping the arm not holding his coffee around the taller man’s slender neck. In the distance he could hear Sherlock groaning dramatically, but he could care less. Kissing Mycroft was a heady sensation, and he wondered if he’d ever grow tired of it. They parted too soon for his preference, and Mycroft smiled at him.

“See you later,” he said softly, squeezing his waist before departing. Rain started falling on Greg again, and he started to make his way back into the scene. Now, however, he was warm all over. And it wasn’t just because of the coffee.


	4. Special Delivery

Mycroft was bent over his desk, chin propped up in his hand, as he read through most documents related to the business in Korea he’d been trying to clean up all week. A half-drunk cup of tea sat next to him, his mobile next to it, which he then reached for to send out a new series of emails for their next course of action. He’d barely been home in four days. Normally, he would send Anthea to fetch him a change of clothes, but to have recently had a certain Detective Inspector move in with him, it gave him incentive to swing by the house himself.

They’d barely seen each other, and Gregory had been half asleep for when they had, since Mycroft had only been able to steal away in the middle of the night to change and refresh himself with a shower. His work was important, and they both knew of his long hours, but it was frustrating nonetheless.

A soft knock on his door pulled his attention, and he raised his head before calling out entrance. Anthea poked her head in, and he wondered if she was bringing more tea or papers, but the smirk on her face instantly told him otherwise. Leaning back in his chair, Mycroft arched an eyebrow curiously.

“Delivery for you, sir,” she said, before turning her attention right back to the Blackberry she was never seen without. She pushed the door open further and a man in a suit walked into the office. Mycroft’s sharp eyes widened as he took in the sight of the vase in the man’s hand, not straying from it even as it was placed on an empty spot on his desk. The man left immediately, and Anthea remained a moment longer to look on in amusement before leaving as well.

Mycroft continued to stare. What on Earth…? Leaning forward, he shifted papers to the side so he could pull it closer. It was a mixture of red and white roses, with Queen Anne’s Lace put in throughout. It was an…impressive bouquet, to be sure. He’d never gotten anything like this before in his life. His keen nose picked up the scent immediately; fresh, of course. Of course, he could tell by the look alone, but the smell confirmed it. He admired it for a moment before reaching out to pluck the card off it’s plastic stand. He knew exactly who sent it, but he wanted to see the message regardless.

‘Miss you. Come home to me soon. –GL’

A simple message, but one that made an uncharacteristically wide grin slide onto Mycroft’s face. He regarded the assortment a moment longer before reaching for his mobile and dialing the only number he used more than his little brother’s.

“Hello?” came that rough voice on the other end.

“Gregory Lestrade,” he began, unable to keep the amusement out of his smooth voice. “What an elaborate way to request my presence.”

“Thought you’d appreciate it,” the older man returned, equally amused. “Wanted to get your attention.”

“Oh believe me, you’ve had my attention since the day we met, Gregory.”

A hum from his partner. It was true, and Mycroft had no problem admitting it to him.

“So…. Will you be home soon?” came the next question, almost more timidly. Mycroft regarded his work, letting his smile fall away. He peered at the papers in front of him before gazing back at the roses.

“I will. Tonight, if everything goes well.”

“I hope so.”

“Me as well, my darling. After all, I need to properly thank you for such a lovely, romantic gesture.”

“Promise?” The amused tone was back, mixed with something more intimate. It sent a chill down Mycroft’s spine.

“Promise,” he returned, his voice lowering seductively.


	5. Exercising

The only sound that filled the room was the pounding of Mycroft’s feet on the rubber belt beneath him, and his soft pants echoing in the small room. He ran to think. He ran to distract himself. Hands balled in loose fists, his arms swung at his sides as he ran, a soft sheen of sweat having formed across his forehead and the back of his neck.

You’re fat. Been gaining the pounds back again, I see. One too many cakes after tea, Mycroft?

His little brother’s words echoed in his head, taunting him. It was ridiculous. Mycroft had so many other things to concern himself with in his life; his body image was low on the list. For the most part, anyway. Every now and again the insecurity would resurface itself, and while he kept it well hidden to everyone else, he’d be lying to himself to say it didn’t bother him.

And so he ran.

He was unsure how much time had passed, but as a low ache began to settle into his thighs and his breathing became harsher, he began to wonder just how long he’d been running for. Across the room, his mobile chirped with a new email, so he decided it would be best to call it quits. Walking across the room, he grabbed a towel and wiped his face, and then draped it across his neck as he read the correspondence.

He was in the middle of typing a reply and coordinating with Anthea when he heard his front door open and close. He stiffened, immediately on the alert, but the telling footsteps reminded him it was just Gregory Lestrade. He’d given the man a key to his place after a particularly intimate weekend, though he rarely dropped by unannounced. His initial excitement gave way to quick panic as he realized the state he was in. There was no time to disguise it, however, so he decided against trying and headed out to meet him.

“Gregory,” he greeted as soon as he saw the older man. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Instead of a response, he got a curious look from those deep brown eyes the Detective Inspector had. He opened his mouth to say something about his appearance, but realized he didn’t quite have anything to say.

“Are you…” he finally started, his rough voice intrigued. “Are you working out?”

The track pants, trainers, and workout shirt made the answer to that question a dead giveaway, so Mycroft didn’t think it was worth an actual response. He huffed, glancing back at his phone again, strangely embarrassed and frustrated that the other man was seeing him like this. When he looked up, however, Gregory was standing right in front of him, his eyes a soft expression.

“Gregory?” he started to ask.

“You look fine, Mycroft,” the older man pointed out. Mycroft rolled his eyes and let out a huff through his nose. This, in turn, caused Gregory to reach up and cup his cheek, pulling his face back so that they were looking at one another again. He had a mischievous grin on his face that sent a spark of heat through the politician.

“Let me give you a better reason to be covered in sweat,” Gregory whispered deeply, having pressed flush against Mycroft’s taller body and whispering into his ear. A soft sound escaped Mycroft’s throat in the split second he decided to take the Inspector up on his offer. Grabbing the older man’s wrist, he tugged him out of the foyer and up towards his bedroom, smirking the entire way.


	6. The Eleventh Hour

Walking away from the smiling bride – because really, Mary was smiling way too much, wedding day or not – Sherlock pulled his mobile out of his pocket and began wandering down the reception area. His sharp eyes were on everybody, all the time, and the lingered for a moment longer on Inspector Lestrade. While everyone around him was mingling and moving, he was sitting with a beer in his hand, looking at no one in particular. Interesting. Sticking his other hand in his pocket, he dialed the number (almost reluctantly), and waited.

“Yes, what, Sherlock?” came the voice on the other end, panting softly.

“Why are you out of breath?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he slid in and out of bodies.

“Filing,” came Mycroft’s snarky remark.

“You’ve been working out again,” Sherlock continued, ignoring his brother’s attempts to dodge the conversation. He grimaced dramatically at no one in particular. That, corresponding with Lestrade’s current state, suddenly made all the sense in the world. The final piece clicked into place, forming the solution to his puzzle.

“What do you want?” Mycroft sounded more irritated than normal, and already Sherlock could see the crease in his brow at his frown. Sherlock began pacing back and fourth at the edge of the room.

“I need your answer Mycroft. It’s a matter of urgency.”

“Answer?”

“Even at the eleventh hour, it’s not too late, you know.” His voice was hinting, knowing at what was going on. There was silence, followed by a sigh at the other end.

“Oh lord,” Mycroft groaned. “Today. It’s today, isn’t it?” Sherlock hummed during his brother’s pause, before he could continue. “No, Sherlock. I will not be coming to the night do, as you so poetically put it.”

“What a shame.” Turning, his sharp pale eyes landed on John and Mary at the head of the room, before migrating back to the form of Lestrade sitting at the table. The man was on his second – no, third – beer of the afternoon, and the reception had barely begun.

“John and Mary will be delighted to find I am not hanging around,” Mycroft said after a moment. Sherlock made a knowing snort, and he just knew the older Holmes was rolling his eyes at the sound of it.

“John and Mary weren’t quite who I had in mind,” Sherlock said finally. He was met with silence. It was a different kind of silence; not Mycroft’s usual, all-knowing, mocking silence. He thought it intriguing how they could read each other’s silences, when most people could barely read each other as they spoke, but such was the life of the Holmes men, he supposed.

“It’s none of your business.” Defensive. Definitely an argument, then.

“He’s on his third beer already.”

Why Sherlock cared, he couldn’t quite explain. It stemmed from that same train of thought that caused him to mention the fact that Mycroft was lonely. Except… he wasn’t all that alone. At least, not for now. He was walking on thin ice with his “goldfish”, as it were, and for some reason Sherlock didn’t want that happening. He thought of the parallels between him and his brother (much as he loathe to admit it most of the time), and he thought of the parallels between John and Lestrade. Sure, things were changing between him and John. John was getting married. That, however, was a whole other scale of emotions he was desperately not trying to focus on right now. John had been good for him. He had the feeling Lestrade would be good for Mycroft; if Mycroft didn’t muck it all up as he was currently doing.

“The eleventh hour is not too late,” he repeated, continuing once he registered that Mycroft was not going to be the one to break this current silence. “However, once it hits 12:01, things change.”

“What is it with your sudden obsession with my personal life, Sherlock?” his older brother asked, his voice snappish and just a bit sorrowful.

“Just… He’s your John. Do not jump off this building, Mycroft. You might not like what you find when you return two years later.”

He hung up the phone before Mycroft could get out another word. He was annoyed with himself for voicing the comparison, for showing his brother the weakness he would no doubt pick up on. Sighing through his nose, he began to make his way back towards the front, where he would no doubt be forced into his speech before long.

* 

Mycroft sighed, his head falling back against his chair as his arm fell limp at his side. He turned his mobile over in contemplation at what was said. As usual, Sherlock knew too much without knowing anything at all. That didn’t make him wrong. Amazing how two years away could make him so much more perceptive to this kind of thing.

Gregory had wanted him there. He’d asked him to go. Mycroft had refused. They’d been involved with one another for three months now, and yet it seemed neither of them truly knew how to classify it. Something about an official date at a social gathering such as a wedding caused him to seclude into himself and immediately refuse the older man. They hadn’t spoken since then. They’d not even shared so much as a single text in four days.

He sat there for a moment more, before glancing at his mobile again. The eleventh hour wasn’t too late. Should he? He chewed at his bottom lip, a bad habit that was his only tell when something bothered him, before forcing himself out of the chair and towards the shower. Perhaps, if he planned things out the right way and executed it precisely, he could salvage this. He wanted to salvage this. He only hoped, in his insecurities, that Gregory would forgive him.


	7. Freckles

Sighing with what had to be a stupid grin on his face, Greg rolled over on the large bed, bumping into the tall man lying next to him. Mycroft was on his stomach, arms crossed underneath his head, eyes closed. They were relaxing in post-coital bliss, and hadn’t gotten out of bed all day. It had been quite a feat convincing the politician to stay in bed and not get dressed, but he was very pleased with the results. Luckily, his big brown eyes came into play and made it a lot more convincing. It was a dangerous weapon that he knew how to wield well.

Their sudden contact had Mycroft opening one pale eye, a smile sliding onto his face. He was beautiful. Reaching over, Greg slid a hand down the smooth canvas of his back, from shoulder blade to hip, before stopping and just gazing. How had he gotten so lucky? He couldn’t quite sort out how someone plain and rough like him could attract the eye of the smartest, most elegant man he had ever known to exist. Mycroft could have anyone, and yet he chose him.

Pushing himself up with an elbow, he slid one of his legs in between the other man’s and leaned close, kissing him on the back. A soft hum emitted from him in response. Lifting his head, his eyes ran across the expanse of bare back, up on his shoulders, where he paid close attention to the decoration of freckles all across the pale skin. Practically crawling on top of him, Greg began to kiss the spots on Mycroft’s shoulders, moving from one to the other.

“Gregory, what are you doing?” the younger man asked, an amused hint in his voice. Greg grinned in between kisses.

“Kissing your freckles, of course,” he mumbled, his lips brushing across skin as he spoke.

“Gregory…”

Greg lifted his head at the sound in his lover’s voice, blinking. He moved enough so that they were looking at each other, and there was an odd expression on Mycroft’s face. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen it, though. It reminded him of the expression he would adopt after being goaded by Sherlock, usually about his weight. His eyebrows rose.

“Myc?” he questioned. He got a soft sigh in return.

“Honestly Gregory, out of all the things about me, you cannot possibly like those.”

Greg blinked the statement. Was Mycroft self conscious about his freckles? It certainly seemed so… Without another word, he crawled back to his previous position and leaned down to start kissing the freckles again, moving to the center of his back and down a little. Mycroft made a small noise in his throat, but said nothing.

“I… love your freckles…” he said in between kisses, continuing to make his way across and down his back. “And to prove it to you… I’m going to kiss… Every. Single. One.”

“An impossible task, to be certain,” the younger man snorted. Greg shook his head in response and continued to kiss. He’d shifted down on the bed, down at the small of his back now. His hands moved as well, now holding onto the outside of Mycroft’s thighs. He made it to his waist, and while the freckles were scarce here, continued to kiss. His tongue slipped out to drag along the very top of his arse, earning a very delicious groan from Mycroft.

“Gregory,” he said again, his voice different. Almost… needy? 

“While I’m down here…?” he asked suggestively. Mycroft’s hips rose ever so slightly.

“Yes. Please.”

Greg grinned widely, feeling a bit mischievous. “Well,” he spoke softly. “How could I resist such good manners?”


	8. Hot-Headed Silver Fox

“Goddamnit!” Greg shouted, kicking the edge of his desk forcefully, causing the furniture to shift and things on the desk to fall over. Including his coffee mug. Which still had coffee in it. That promptly fell onto the floor where it would no doubt stain. The Detective Inspector could care less, however, and began pacing the floor in irritation.

“Sir-“ Sally Donovan attempted to start, but he was having none of it.

“We almost had them. We had bloody evidence, for Christ’s sake! How is this still happening?!” he continued to scream, waving his hands up in the air in annoyance. He was getting reamed by his superior for not nailing down this case yet, and his last resort could be bothered, because it wasn’t above a six. He was to the point of begging and still could not convince Sherlock to help. He paced again before stopping to kick at his desk, causing Donovan to jump and sigh.

“Go home, Greg,” she started to fuss. He glared at her, and she put her hands up defensively. “Go home, take a breather, and get your head sorted. Then you can come back.”

“We’re still missing something,” he said through clenched teeth. Walking back to his side of the desk, he threw open the case file and began looking through things again. “There’s something… Something that can tie everything together. The missing piece. We just need to fucking find it.”

“You won’t find it if you continue being pissed off,” Donovan finally snapped. “Go home. Calm down. Come back. Maybe even try convincing the freak again.”

Greg glared at her again at calling Sherlock a freak. Names like that had never gotten them anywhere. Apart from that, however, she was right. He couldn’t sort evidence with the hot head he was sporting. It was a poor trait of his that he’d always had. When he got mad, he got mad quick. Sighing, he snatched his mobile and car keys.

“I’ll be back in a few hours.”

He was aware the truth of that statement was a bit rare. He was aware of it as he sat in the kitchen a few hours later with a scotch in his hand. It wasn’t his first scotch either, so going back to the Yard this evening was getting slimmer and slimmer. Besides, he was still angry. To say his career was riding on this case was boarding on the dramatic; after all, he highly doubted he would actually lose his job if they didn’t nail these guys. Still… It was a big deal. Greg was under so much pressure.

And Sherlock bloody Holmes couldn’t be bothered to help.

He was stewing in all these thoughts, drinking his scotch, so he didn’t happen to hear the front door opening and closing nearby. Anger flared up in him again and, after downing the last of his drink, slammed the glass down. If it weren’t for the instant stinging in his hand, accompanied by moisture, he barely would have realized that he’d slammed the glass down a bit too hard. Wide brown eyes went down to the counter and he hissed, turning his hand to better see where broken glass had cut into his skin.

“Gregory?” came a smooth voice, alert and full of concern. Swift steps echoed down the hallway and soon Mycroft came into view, still holding his coat and umbrella. Greg blinked, looked up at his lover, and then back down at his bleeding hand.

“I-“ he started, but already the sharp-eyed politician was in action. He dropped his coat and umbrella with a carelessness that was immensely uncommon for him and strode over to the sink to wet a cloth. Then, he was immediately at his side, gently grabbing his injured hand, and pressing the cloth against it. Greg flinched, feeling another sting moving through him, and looked up at Mycroft’s questioning gaze.

“It’s this case,” he sighed bitterly, holding his forehead in his unhurt hand.

“They were sent free again.” It wasn’t a question. It never was. Greg nodded. “Was it worth breaking a glass for?”

“If your fucking brother would help, I wouldn’t still be dealing with the damn thing,” he snapped heatedly. When he looked up again, the previously concerned look had turned stern. Mycroft was all but glaring at him.

“Gregory, you need to stop shouting,” he said, his voice crisp and borderline cold. Greg frowned and stared down at their joined hands, watching the younger man still tending to his wound even as they almost began fussing at each other. He sighed again. 

“This case is driving me mental,” he frowned. So much so, he was about to get into a fight with his partner. He really did need to calm down. He looked back up after a moment. “Sorry Myc, I-“

“It’s alright, Gregory.” The voice was affectionate again. Bending his head, Mycroft leaned in for a soft kiss. “Let me tend to your wound and we can retire to the bedroom, okay? And you can talk me through it. Let me help, if my tedious brother will not.”

Greg managed his first smile of the day, and nodded.

“What would I do without you?” he sighed as they walked together through the house. Mycroft chuckled.

“Probably would’ve killed yourself by now, darling.”


	9. The Beach

The warm breeze that brushed by was calming, and a rather nice contrast to the normal cold London air. Mycroft reclined back on the blanket that had been spread out, sighing happily, and crossing his ankles. He was not one to spend time at a beach – it was not as if his complexion really allowed for it anyway – but it was the first vacation he and Gregory had been able to take together, so there was nothing unpleasant about it. So long as the sunscreen remained on and he stayed under the shadows of the umbrella he was laying under, his skin wouldn’t suffer too bad.

Grinning, his partner made his way over to him across the sand. He propped himself up on his elbows and removed his sunglasses, gazing up at the older man. Gregory had become quite sun-soaked, tanning his already lovely skin.

“Shall we head back?” he prompted, as the other man got onto his knees in front of him, relaxing. They would have a delicious dinner awaiting them, or even just some time relaxing in their room, after showering off the remains of sand and lotion and ocean water.

Gregory shook his head, his grin changing feeling, and Mycroft raised his eyebrows. The older man all but crawled on top of him, leaning in for a heated kiss. He responded instantly, returning the kiss in kind, and reached up to thread his fingers through soft, silver hair. His partner’s tongue slid against his lips, requesting entrance that Mycroft quickly granted, and he gasped into his mouth as their crotches rubbed against one another.

“Gregory…” he started against his lips, breathlessly. The older man was beginning to tug at his shorts and stroke his skin, which felt amazing, but sent a small alarm off in his head. “Gregory, we’re in public,” he weakly protested, panting slightly, face flushed.

“Private beach,” he was reminded, Gregory’s words deep and rough. It sent shivers down his spine to hear his voice in such a state. He gripped tighter at the back of his head as a hand slipped inside of his shorts and deft fingers began stroking his erection. He shuddered.

“Yes, but,” he started again, trying to think of a good reason. Unfortunately, his brain wasn’t functioning at its highest capacity currently, and the fact that they were on a beach sent a thrill through him. Private, yes, so there was no one around that could see them. But still technically public. There was something so… naughty about it. Almost risky.

“Trust me, Myc,” Gregory breathed, gazing down at him affectionately. Mycroft knew he wouldn’t press it if he truly didn’t want him to. Thing was, though, he did want him to. So he nodded slightly, and in that moment, their clothing was shifted and that hand that was teasing him was immediately wrapped around both of them. Mycroft shouted out, and then yanked Gregory down to muffle the shout with a desperate kiss, rocking and panting until they reached release together.

“That was… insane….” Mycroft panted afterwards, as they lay sprawled on the blanket together. Next to him, Gregory chuckled, nuzzling his jaw gently.

“Best vacation ever,” the older man whispered, grinning. Mycroft couldn’t help but nod. Yes, it truly was.


	10. A Bit of Worship

“You should wear shorts more often.”

Mycroft opened an eye and looked beside him where Gregory lay with an adorable, contagious grin on his face. He let out of a huff of a chuckle, eyeing him curiously.

“And what reason would that be for, Gregory?” he asked softly, curling a bit closer to the warm body next to him. His lover really did say some of the strangest things while he was still recovering from their intimate activities. He watched as the older man propped himself up on his elbows and gaze over at him.

“Your legs, Myc,” he prompted, his brown eyes shifting down to stare at them. Mycroft felt a self-conscious pang and his cheeks flushed with embarrassed heat.

“Honestly, Gregory. Not in my line of work.” There’s no way he would be caught dead wearing anything other than his tailored suits. Even his ‘casual wear’ was dressier than most people’s formal wear.

“Around here, then,” he said, his voice almost a whine.

“I don’t understand why-“ he started, but faded off as he was suddenly lying on his own. He watched as Gregory moved down the bed and got in between his legs. Instantly, he moved to prop himself up, his eyebrows shooting up.

Instead of going for what he assumed the older man was wanting to jump back into (which would normally be ridiculous but for two older men they had rather active libidos it seemed), Gregory grabbed onto one of his legs gently and pulled it up to sit his ankle on his shoulder. Turning his head, he began pressing kisses to his calf. The kisses were slow and affectionate, and he was clearly taking his time. He could feel every curve of those wonderful lips on his skin. Why, Mycroft couldn’t quite figure out. He watched, trying to figure out the obsession. His legs were nothing special. In fact, they were rather scrawny, pale, and twiggy. Mycroft honestly almost hated them more than he did his midsection. Yet the other man seemed enthralled by them.

“They’re gorgeous,” Gregory whispered against his skin, running his hand along the outside, over his ankle, and up his thigh. Mycroft couldn’t hold back the content sigh that escaped him, and he rested back into the mattress. It was all very soothing; he had to admit. “You’ve no idea, Myc. No idea how lovely they are.”

“Mmmm… I’m beginning to get the idea,” he muttered in return, feeling a flutter in his chest. “But feel free to continue showing me.” Only Gregory had ever had him feel like this. He felt cared for, and loved, with the Detective Inspector. There were no ulterior motives here, no end game, and no lies. 

He almost let out a soft noise of protest when his leg was lowered back onto the bed, but it turned into a smile when all Gregory did was shift to his other leg. He started the same, slow kissing routine as he’d done on the first, and Mycroft sighed happily. Yes, he would let Gregory praise his legs all he desired if he got to feel like this. 

The kisses made their way up to his knee, straying further than he had done on the other leg, causing the comforting feeling to get a little more heated. Mycroft opened his piercing blue eyes and gazed down at the man in front of him. Their eyes locked in silent communication, and that infectious, mischievous grin returned to Gregory’s face. Mycroft mirrored it.

“What?” he asked, almost lightheartedly, his heart rate escalating. Gregory chuckled.

“Nothing, love.” Straightening his back again, he continued his kissing routine, as well as massaging his calves gently. Mycroft let his eyes flutter closed, and he just enjoyed the sensations. If he desired to put a name to it, he would say that Gregory seemed to be worshipping his legs a bit. It was… nice. He prayed he would never want to stop.


	11. Caring Is Not An Advantage

It still felt strange having a key to Gregory’s flat. Not that Mycroft had ever been kept out before that, but nonetheless, having a copy of the key carried a different weight to it. It shouldn’t, and it was irrational to think that way. But it was. He was currently putting that key to good use, to surprise the older man. He’d gotten back three days early from his business trip to Korea, and had purposely not told him in the hopes to see the way his face lit up in shock and excitement.

Quietly, he shut the door behind him, but paused in the front room, furrowing his brow. It immediately felt different. He listened to the noises within the flat, and found he heard two voices. One, the deep rasp of Gregory’s, and the other… A woman. He blinked, pressing him lips together in a thin line, and took a cautious step forward, listening.

“Greg, it’s been really hard this past year,” the woman was sighing. Her voice had a particularly mournful quality to it that was, frankly, overdramatic and insincere.

“Christina…” he heard Gregory sigh in return. Mycroft’s eyes widened and he froze. His ex wife? Why was she here, of all places? He heard a shift, and through a slant of sight in the walls, saw the woman leaning very much into Gregory’s personal space. Her hands were on his legs, face angling towards his, as if to-

Mycroft backed up. His mind had gone blank, which left him uncomfortable and almost panicked. Spinning on his heel, he started to make a quick exit, only to realize he’d made noise and there was a pair of footsteps behind him.

“Myc?!” Gregory’s voice came, definitely surprised, and almost horrified. Mycroft froze and shut his eyes, sighing, before craning his neck to look back at him.

“I got back early,” he said, his voice frigid. It had to be. He had to be in control. “But I see my presence is no longer desired. Good day, Inspector.”

He couldn’t bear to say his name. He left immediately, ignoring the beginnings of protest from the other man. He ducked into his car and ordered to be driven home promptly. He needed a scotch.

He had been fooling himself, thinking a relationship between them would work. Of course Gregory would want her back; they had so much history together. What was he? A secretive, intelligent individual that couldn’t stand people. There was no contest. He tried ignoring his phone as it rang in his pocket, knowing who it was. By the time he’d arrived home and poured his scotch, his phone had rang twice and beeped with new text messages five times.

Sitting in his chair and sipping the drink, he finally pulled it out to read them.

Please answer your phone. –GL

Come back. Please. –GL 

Mycroft please, let me explain. Answer your phone. –GL

It’s not what you think it is, really. I swear to you. –GL

I love you. Please talk to me. Call me. Please. –GL 

Mycroft sighed, scrolling through the messages more than once. Part of him wanted to. He wanted to be rational about this, and hear all the facts, like he always did. However, he was feeling very… irrational. Upset. How could he have thought that their relationship could have seriously lasted? It was a ridiculous notion.

He gazed at the words on his bright screen for what had to be way too long. Without replying, he finally set his phone down and put his attention back to his scotch. He was certainly not on the verge of tears. Old words of his had never been proven more correct.

Caring was definitely not an advantage.


	12. Or Perhaps It Is

Mycroft wasn’t answering his phone. Not since… Greg sighed in frustration. His damn ex-wife was still managing to fuck things up in his life. She had come over, begging to be taken back, getting all up in his personal space and trying to make a move. It was desperate, annoying, and most of all, he saw right through it. She had no intention of salvaging their relationship, not really. No doubt he was just a comfort zone for her that she would continue to cheat around with other people, as long as she could come home to Mr. Dependable.

He wasn’t having it. He’d kicked her out the minute his boyfriend left, and he wished he’d done so the moment she had weaseled her way into his flat. Now things were royally screwed. He didn’t know anymore exactly how many text messages he’d left Mycroft over the past 24 hours, and he knew he was bordering on desperate, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t let Christina ruin this too. She’d ruined too much in his life, and just now was he putting the pieces back together successfully.

Pacing back and fourth, Greg lingered outside of Mycroft’s front door. What was he waiting for? There was a chance the younger man wasn’t home, sure, but it was a chance he needed to take. He needed to see him, needed to explain… Finally, with a deep breath, he walked up and rang the doorbell.

Nothing. Greg shifted his weight from one foot to the other and waited a moment. Still nothing. Squaring his shoulders, he lifted his hand to ring the bell again, just as he heard a lock being undone from the inside. His heart leapt up in his chest, and for a moment he forgot to breathe. The door opened, and he was looking at his boyfriend now. He was dressed in one of his dark, pinstripe suits, all but the jacket and his shoes on. Surprise showed on Mycroft’s face before fading away to his politician’s mask.

“Gregory,” he commented rigidly. Greg tried not to wince at the tone, and he took a step forward. He didn’t force himself inside the house, though Mycroft did not take any steps back like he was preparing for.

“Can I come in?” he asked, praying for an affirmative answer. Silence. Mycroft shut his eyes for a moment before letting out a curt nod, and finally turned to the side to allow him entry.

They made their way to the kitchen, Mycroft going over to his stovetop and boiling some water for tea. He was always a good host, no matter the situation. Or maybe he was just trying to busy himself and avoid him. Greg walked over to the island counter and leaned on it a bit.

“Look, I need to-“

“There’s no need, Gregory. She was your wife. No matter her deceptions, the two of you had a connection for many years that I couldn’t begin to compete with. It would’ve never worked for us. I only wish I would have seen so earlier to allow us to avoid this tense situation.”

Greg ran a hand through his hair, sighing in frustration. 

“For being the smartest man I’ve ever met, you are rather bloody dense,” he muttered with a frown. Mycroft turned, an eyebrow raised.

“Pardon?” He was asking for clarification. That was certainly rare. Greg pushed off the island and walked over to Mycroft. This time, the younger man did take a step back, but it pressed his back against the counter behind him. Greg looked up at him stubbornly.

“She was trying to weasel her way back in. It was obvious, even to me. How did you not pick up on it?” he asked, genuinely confused. That caused an unsettling expression to show on Mycroft’s face, one of confusion on his end as well.

“I saw…”

“Her trying to come on to me, yes. You didn’t stick around enough to see my actual reaction. Myc…” He reached out and pressed a hand flat to his chest. Icy eyes darted down to the contact, and then back up to his face. “Myc, I love you. I would never throw this away for that crazy woman.”

“Gregory…”

He got no further. Greg closed the space between them and leaned up, pressing their lips together in a tender, incredibly honest kiss. It wasn’t reciprocated, not at first. But after a moment, two slender hands reached up and grasped at his biceps, their lips finally molding into each other in an almost desperation. They kissed until neither of them could breathe, and only then did they part.

“I didn’t think…”

“Clearly not,” Greg chuckled, a bit breathless. He glanced at the stovetop for a second, and then up at Mycroft again. “Sod the tea,” he almost growled. “I need to take you to bed now.”

“Christ, Gregory, yes.”


	13. It's Your Name

“Oh behave, Myc,” Mummy Holmes fussed in exhaustion as the two of them exchanged oddly tense words with one another. Tense on Mycroft’s part, anyway.

“Mycroft is the name you gave me, if you could possibly struggle all the way to the end,” the man snapped, a sarcastic smile plastered on his face. His mum didn’t look particularly offended, more exasperated and disapproving, but she left it at that. Greg watched the exchange in silence, and as Mummy Holmes went to carry a basket into the living room, he stood as well. His movement caught the younger man’s eye and he raised an eyebrow. “Gregory?”

“Outside?” he requested softly. He didn’t wait for an answer before heading outside, pulling out his cigarettes, and lighting one up. After a moment, Mycroft joined him, and Greg fished out another cigarette to give him. His boyfriend hummed in appreciation and lit up as well.

“Dun need to be so rough on her,” Greg said after a moment. “Your mum is a lovely lady.”

The Holmes parents had been nothing that he had expected when meeting them, and he was still a bit flabbergasted. It was with amusement that he had no idea how Mycroft and Sherlock turned out the way they were with parents just as ordinary as his own.

“She’s insufferable,” Mycroft sighed, taking a long drag of the smoke he’d been given. Greg rolled his eyes and smiled. Parents always were, he supposed.

“If you hate Myc so much, why do you always let me call you that?” he asked curiously. With the way he’d snapped at his mother, it started to make it a bit clearer why he insisted on calling him Gregory. Given names and all. It took a little bit before he was given a response.

“You’re different.”

Also not what he expected. Greg looked at him in amusement. 

“Different, am I?”

“Of course you are, Gregory, honestly.” Now he was awarded with the long-suffering Mycroft Holmes gaze. “You’re different. You’re my exception. It sounds rubbish, but you are.”

“It doesn’t sound rubbish,” Greg replied softly, his eyes glowing with affection. He shifted closer to wrap an arm around Mycroft’s waist and rest his head on his shoulder as they smoked in silence. He truly was Mycroft’s exception, and he was fine with that. More than fine, actually. He was the exception to everything the politician had carved out for himself in life. Otherwise, they would not be as they were.

“So you really don’t mind me calling you Myc?” he asked again after a moment. Mycroft dropped his cigarette on the ground and stubbed it out with the heel of his shoe and chuckled.

“It’s just a name, Gregory,” he sighed, smiling softly.

“But it’s your name,” Greg countered, lifting his head again. He looked up at the younger man. “And it’s important to me, yeah?”

Mycroft said nothing. Instead, he cupped Greg’s cheek with a slender hand and leaned in, kissing him gently. They both tasted of menthol, and Greg nuzzled closer in the kiss, wrapping both arms around his body now. Time slipped away when they kissed, and his head pounded in ways it never had before him.

“Boys, it’s almost time for lunch!” they heard Mummy Holmes call from inside the house. “You’d do well to stop giving the neighbors a free show, you know!”

They broke apart, Greg beet red at the comment. He cleared his throat and Mycroft just looked amused.

“Well, ah…” he started, glancing around to see if anyone had in fact been watching. It didn’t seem so. Though, other houses home didn’t really surround the Holmes family, so the chance was rather slim. Mycroft reached out and drug his nails gently across Greg’s scalp.

“She’s messing with you, darling. I told you, she’s insufferable.”

“Well, I think she’s lovely, Myc.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes, but the smile did not leave his face. “I am aware.”


	14. Playing In The Snow

“C’mere,” Greg nodded, reaching out and grabbing Mycroft’s hand as they were walking back up to their home. They’d just gotten done with a fabulous dinner, over which it had started to snow, and he was feeling much like a small child. He was bubbling with excitement and he could tell that Mycroft had no idea why.

“Alright,” the younger man said softly, with a hint of amusement, as he took the offered hand. Grinning, Greg turned away from where they were heading to the door and started to lead them around to the backyard. He got close to breaking out in a run, grinning, and finally let go of his lover so he could reach down and scoop up a ball of snow.

“Gregory, what are you-“ Mycroft started, but came to a halt as a cold ball of snow slammed into his chest. He arched an eyebrow as Greg started giggling.

“Come on Myc,” he giggled, scooping down to grab more snow. “Never played in the snow before?”

He reared his arm back and chucked the second snowball, getting him in the shoulder. Some of the snow got on his neck and slipped inside his suit, causing him to shiver a bit.

“No Gregory, I have not. And why would I want to, it’s cold,” the politician said, trying to brush the wetness off.

“Just give it a try, eh?” Greg giggled, moving to get more snow. Sighing, Mycroft gave in, reaching down to get some himself. He darted forward, chucking it as he moved, and hit Greg in the face. “Oyyyy!!” came the shouted response.

Suddenly, they were both moving. Colliding into each other, they fell into the snow, laughing and rolling and grabbing snow to shove in each other’s faces. It got in their hair, in their coats, up the legs of their trousers. Finally, Greg had Mycroft on his back, pinning him down and straddling his waist lightly. They were both still laughing, until within seconds of each other, they faded off and just stared at each other.

Mycroft’s face was flushed and his eyes were shining, his hair wet and messy. He was beautiful. Had anyone ever seen him like this, or was Greg alone? He hoped that he was. This was an honored privilege that he would treasure forever. Reaching up, Mycroft was running a gloved hand through Greg’s hair, brushing some snow out of it. Suddenly giving into the urge that was nagging at him, he leaned down and started kissing Mycroft sweetly. The grip on the back of his head tightened and the kiss deepened.

“Gregory, perhaps we should…” Mycroft started against his lips, but was cut off again as he reinitiated the intense kiss. Soon, they were panting and gripping at each other’s clothing, and Greg started to move his kisses down to the younger man’s jaw and neck. His pale skin was a mixture of hot and cold; cold from the snow with heat right underneath. It was a comforting warmth that Greg sought out often, going into overdrive because of the snow and because both men were becoming quite aroused. Mycroft made a tiny noise in the back of his throat that intensified when Greg rocked his hips down against him.

“Gregory!” Mycroft gasped. That sound made Greg’s blood boil. How was it they could be soaking wet and covered in snow on a cold night in London, and for him to be burning up so much? The shiver that went through his body was definitely not due to their surroundings, and he gripped at Mycroft’s shoulders almost desperately.

“Y-yeah, Myc,” he panted, pulling back slightly.

“Let’s go inside,” he all but growled. The noise sent a more intense shiver through Greg. “We need to get in front of the fire and…and out of these clothes. B-before we catch cold.”

“Is that the only reason you want to get out of these clothes?” Greg asked, his voice deep. He arched an eyebrow curiously, and found himself yanked down into another heated kiss. This time, Mycroft was the one to rock his hips, and Greg whimpered slightly.

“No,” he whispered against Greg’s lips. “Definitely not.”


	15. The Umbrella

Mycroft smiled politely as he stepped into Gregory’s office, causing the older man to glance up from the paperwork that was undoubtedly driving him insane. The look of pleased surprise was enough to cause the politician to grin in a way hardly anyone got the privilege of experiencing.

“Mycroft!” Gregory greeted, standing and walking over to him. Mycroft reached out his hand on instinct, but was instead pulled into a brief hug that made his stomach flip. It really was insane the amount of care he felt for the older man. “What brings you by?”

“Well,” he started, shifting his umbrella from one hand to the other. “You’ve been holed up in here all day. I thought some fresh air would be good for you. And some lunch. So, please allow me to treat you, Gregory.”

The man agreed almost instantly, which Mycroft had been hoping for. The two of them hadn’t been able to see each other much the past week, due to obligations both of their occupations required. Gregory went to grab his mobile and jacket, and then walked back over and pulled Mycroft in for a kiss. He returned it happily, his free hand coming up to rest on his bicep, before pulling away.

“Come,” he requested, and they left the room together. They strode through Scotland Yard and finally outside, where his car was waiting. The drive was short, and out they were again, heading for a small bakery that excelled in their lunch menu. Their timing was perfect, as Mycroft had managed to ensure, and it wasn’t long before they were sitting and eating.

“Man, this is hitting the spot. How do you do that, Myc?” Gregory asked. Mycroft blinked, looking up from the sandwich he had ordered.

“Do what?” he questioned, quirking an eyebrow.

“Know exactly what I need.”

Mycroft smirked, setting the sandwich down and drinking from his tea.

“Gregory, it is my business to know these things,” he said with an amused tone in his voice. The other man just grinned, and returned to his fish and chips for a moment. He hummed again, signaling another question he had thought of, but thankfully finished chewing before attempting it.

“Also, I’ve been wondering. Why do you have your umbrella? It’s shockingly sunny out today.”

Gregory was correct. The weather was pleasantly wonderful today, as it would apparently be tomorrow. Too often they dealt with cloudy, rainy days, so it was always nice to get a little sunshine. Regardless, Mycroft always had his umbrella. The weather did not make a difference.

“I never go anywhere without it,” he pointed out, as if that was a sufficient answer. The look Gregory gave him proved immediately that it was not.

“I know. Why?”

Mycroft fell silent. Ever since he was a teenager… He sighed, thinking to himself. The reason behind it, he had never admitted to anyone. Only he and Sherlock knew, and they did not speak of it. Not that they spoke of much these days. Gregory’s mood sobered a bit and he straightened, as if sensing the deepness to his thoughts.

“You don’t have to tell me, Myc,” he said after a moment. “It’s no big.”

“No, it’s alright Gregory.” Mycroft drank more of his tea. If he could tell anyone, it was Gregory. They were becoming quite serious, the two of them, and he needed to get used to the fact that he could confide in the other man without fear of judgment or unnecessary sympathy. He nodded before speaking.

“Sherlock was young. He must have been… no more than six years old. He was put in my care for the day, and he had wanted to go outside and gather up soil samples.” The look Gregory got was almost amusing. “Yes, even at that age, he was persistent with those types of things. Well, we ended up wandering a good deal away from the house, neither of us really thinking about it. It had been cloudy, but not too bad. However, we ended up getting caught in the rain. It was very sudden, very heavy rain, and we had no quick way home.”

Mycroft shut his eyes, remembering the incident. He sighed and adjusted his napkin needlessly before continuing.

“Sherlock got very sick that evening. We had not been properly dressed to deal with the rain and he was so young. He ended up having to get admitted to hospital. It was a rather terrifying weekend, and I vowed then that I would never go anywhere again without an umbrella.”

And he never had. Reaching for his tea, he finished it off, not looking up at the older man. It was rare for him to discuss his childhood, especially concerning Sherlock; at a time where they were just brothers, and things weren’t as tense as they were now. Catching movement, he finally looked up to see Gregory standing. He planted his hands on the table and leaned over it, tilting his head and kissing Mycroft sweetly. In public. Mycroft froze in surprise, but relinquished and returned the kiss. His brown eyes were so full of affection as he sat back down at it made his heart ache in a way that was wonderful.

“Thank for you telling me.” And that was all Gregory said. He didn’t ask for more details, didn’t focus on in, and didn’t try to comfort him over something that was so long ago. Mycroft smiled. This was one of the many reasons he felt he was falling in love with this man. He just… knew.

“You’re very welcome, Gregory,” he whispered softly, smiling. He returned to his sandwich as the conversation shifted, moving on to Gregory talking about going out with his daughter. And things were perfect.


	16. Untouchable

Greg slammed his front door shut behind him, frowning at the absolute shit day he’d had. His perp got away, Sherlock hadn’t answered his mobile, his bloody ex-wife storming into the Yard and waving papers around, tossing shit in his face and accusing him of ridiculous things that weren’t true. The divorce was bad enough on its own, and she was doing her best to make it worse.

And then there was Mycroft fucking Holmes.

The man had come into the office, barely twenty minutes after Sally Donovan had thrown his ex out, taking cases away from him and sweeping shit under the rug. Once again he was dismissed like a lowly dog, never mind the Detective Inspector title attached to his name. How was it that the man always managed to appear at the worst possible time and throw his position around? It was infuriating.

The worst thing about it was the way his heart leaped and his chest clenched at the sight of the posh, three-piece suited man. How was it that he could have feelings for the man? He supposed they knew each other, sure, and had for almost six years now. He’d made his presence known shortly after his association with his younger brother began. Sometimes they met over tea in a small café, but it was always strictly business. If it wasn’t case he was working on, it was Sherlock. Always Sherlock.

So why was he so bloody smitten with him?

Scowling, he threw his jacket on a chair and walked into the kitchen to fish a beer out of his fridge. He cracked it open and took a generous drink, before heading into the main room and falling onto the couch. There was some sort of football match on, and he turned the volume up to try and distract his thoughts. His head fell back against the couch and he sighed, shutting his eyes.

Maybe it was the divorce. It was messing with his feelings and making him vulnerable. He’d been with Christina for thirteen years, and he’d been blind for almost half of it, at least. Something like that left a hole in a man. And it left him pining for Mycroft Holmes.

Mycroft was untouchable. Maybe that was half the problem. Greg found himself thinking about the man more than he probably should, in more situations than he had physically been a part of in years. He gripped the slick bottle tighter, only setting it on the coffee table when it was empty. He ran a hand through his growingly gray hair and sighed. 

Mycroft didn’t really seem one to be in a relationship. He had a wedding band on his hand, though it was on the right hand instead of the left. Still, a ring didn’t necessarily mean anything. Greg still wore his own wedding band, more to stave off questions or people that he just didn’t want to deal with. It’s possible it was the same for Mycroft. Not that it mattered.

His mobile beeped, pulling him from his thoughts. Upon reading the text, though, it did nothing to further distract him.

Apologies for earlier. I am aware you have a lot on your plate. Were it not a matter of national importance, it could have waited. –MH

Greg resisted the urge to throw his phone. This wasn’t helping. He sighed, covering his eyes with his hand and falling sideways onto the couch, stretching out. He doubted he’d sleep in his bed tonight. He hardly did, it seemed. There was no point. It was too large for him, and more often than he liked to admit, his thoughts strayed to it being occupied with another body besides his own. Specifically, the body of the man in question.

Mycroft was untouchable. Greg was falling for a symbol, a thought, one that would end in pain and disappointment. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.


	17. Dinner

In the span of time they had been dating, Gregory and Mycroft tended to have dinner out at a nice restaurant that never presented them with a bill at the end of the night. Neither had ever complained about this, so it was a bit of a surprise when Mycroft suggested dinner on Friday, that Gregory shook his head at going out again. With his infectious, almost childlike grin, he had instead suggested dinner at his flat, with him cooking. Mycroft knew he had a bit of a culinary background, but it still wasn’t something he had expected.

What was even more confounding, and a bit frustrating, was Gregory’s refusal to say what they were going to be eating. All he’d done was make it a bit of a challenge.

“Pick a type of wine,” he’d said. “I don’t need specifics on it, just the general kind, and I’ll cook to match.”

Mycroft had done so. Now, come Friday night, he stood at his boyfriend’s doorstep, with a bottle of white wine in his hand, intrigued as to what was in store. He wasn’t one to not have control of a situation, or know what was going to happen and when. It was something that made him feel rather strange. It was Gregory, however, and he knew he could trust the older man in whatever he had planned.

“Perfect timing,” came his greeting as Gregory put a hand on the small of his back and they walked inside together. The smells inside his flat were heavenly, and Mycroft was immensely excited for whatever it was the older man had prepared. He didn’t doubt his cooking skills, and he was looking forward to whatever he had chosen to go along with his vague description of beverage for the evening. 

Speaking of which, the bottle was removed from his hand so he could remove his coat. He hung it up and then moved to join Gregory in the kitchen.

“Never seen this label before,” Gregory was calling to him, as he made his way closer. “What is it?”

“A French white,” Mycroft explained, moving to lean against a nearby counter. He wanted to be in close proximity to his boyfriend, but he also didn’t want to get in the way. The man’s eyebrow raised in interest as the wine was placed in the fridge to chill until dinner was ready. “2010 Meursault, Jean-Michel Gaunoux.”

“Interesting…” Gregory hummed, moving back over to his stovetop and stirring things in pots. Mycroft was immensely curious, but decided to let his nose deduce it for him.

“Shrimp?” he questioned, though he knew the answer. Gregory nodded in affirmation. “And pasta. Yes, that will be delightful with the wine.”

“Told ya,” he grinned cheekily. They made small, comfortable conversation as dinner was put together; anything from Gregory’s daughter to Sherlock’s most recent annoyances, to where they were going to go once they finally got a vacation. They shared soft touches and unhurried, yet somewhat distracting kisses, and finally food was ready. Mycroft went about pouring the wine as Gregory fixed their plates, and they sat down together with a final kiss before starting to eat.

The meal was a pasta dish; shrimp with peanut sauce, mixed with cilantro, ginger, bell peppers, and a hint of onion. On the side were slices of garlic bread. Paired with the wine he’d chosen, with its honeyed smell and nutty flavor, was delectable. He made a noise of appreciation that should have been downright sinful, letting the array of flavors settle on his tongue. Across from him, Gregory was rather impressed with the wine, and Mycroft smiled fondly.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, glancing at the glass in his hand. Mycroft crossed his legs under the table and smirked.

“Imported from France,” he said, the ‘obviously’ hanging unspoken in the air.

“Imported? Myc, how expensive was this?”

“Not too bad, darling. Around 80 pounds.”

Those lovely brown eyes widened in shock, and Gregory stared at him, then down at the wine, and back at him.

“For a bottle of wine?!” he asked in disbelief. Mycroft shrugged.

“It’s not a big deal, Gregory.” It really wasn’t. “Besides, it’s worth it, no?”

“Yeah, just… Yeah. Wow.”

Mycroft chuckled affectionately and returned to his dish. Silence fell in the kitchen as they just enjoyed the meal and each other’s calm company. When they were done, Mycroft helped with the cleaning up, ignoring Gregory’s protests that he could do it later, and with everything tidied up and their stomachs full, he wrapped his arms around his boyfriend and pulled him close.

“My compliments to the chef,” he mumbled softly, smirking. Gregory returned his grin and leaned in to kiss him. It was a long kiss, their lips molding together expertly, and Gregory nibbled on Mycroft’s bottle lip gently before they pulled away from one another.

“What kind of compliments, hmm?” he asked roughly, his grin widening mischievously. Mycroft chuckled, taking his wrist and tugging him towards the main room where they could make themselves much more comfortable.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he mumbled in return.


	18. A Necessary Presence

Mycroft could simply not understand his little brother’s sudden fascination with his personal life. It was absurd and extremely annoying. Sherlock had not shown even a fraction of an interest in anything dealing with him since… Well, he would say since he was younger and the still had what you could call a functioning brotherly relationship, but even back then there hadn’t been much interest in these kinds of things. 

He had honestly been a bit grateful for the deduction battle that had been initiated shortly after, if only for a distraction from that particular conversation. There was no reason for Sherlock to sit there and start showing concern for his loneliness. It was beyond irritating, and something Mycroft had refused to stay and listen to any longer than was necessary.

Of course, the most irritating thing about it was that Sherlock wasn’t wrong. Mycroft was actually lonely. It wasn’t a sentiment he was often familiar with, and it had been something he’d chosen to ignore as long as he was able. However, it was getting more and more harder to do so. Because in the sea of ridiculously slow and incompetent people, there was one person that had started to stand out. One that… for reasons part of him could still not discern was vastly more complex than the rest.

Maybe it was his performance as a Detective Inspector that had impressed him. Or the way he handled Sherlock (especially when they’d first met and his dear younger brother was a mess of a drug addict). It really had nothing to do with his family or his background, which was all rather ordinary. The puzzle of Gregory Lestrade was one that even Mycroft Holmes hadn’t pieced together entirely.

The worst part about it, he thought to himself as he sat in front of the fire in his large, eerily quiet home, nursing a scotch, was how intense the sentiment for the older man already seemed to run. It was getting to a point where he was almost making up reasons to check on the Detective Inspector in person. Their last meeting in his office had been a mere smoke screen Mycroft had concocted on the ride over. CCTV had clued him in to the most recent complications Gregory’s ex-wife was giving, and he felt a pang of concern. This was why he went to the office himself, instead of just checking footage.

He did not know why he did it. It wasn’t like there would ever be any chance of a relationship between the two of them. One usually needed chemistry for that. There was sex, of course, which never completely required a deeper emotional connection, but Mycroft found no desire to seek out such a companionship from Gregory. Plus, one cannot build a relationship on something that was one-sided.

The Detective Inspector was not fond of him. That much was certain. Not that Mycroft ever gave him a reason to be otherwise. All of their correspondences were of a professional nature. Most of the time, this was required, but sometimes… Truth be told, he wasn’t one to give people any reason to like him. Which was fine. He could care less what people thought of him. But with Gregory… He cared.

Sighing, Mycroft held his head in his hand, setting his glass to the side. This was ridiculous. He did not pine. Surely this was just an annoying passing fancy. It was utter nonsense. But no matter how hard he tried, he could not deny the feelings he had developed for Gregory. It was why he checked up on him in person. It was why he would continue to do so.

Nothing would ever happen. On the outside, Mycroft was okay with this. He had to be. It didn’t matter that on the inside was utter chaos. It didn’t matter that on the inside he was at war with himself and he couldn’t tell yet which side was losing. It didn’t matter, because no one would see. Not even his little brother.

Mycroft would remain on the sidelines, doing what he did best. Stepping in and disappearing just as quickly, an aggravating but necessary presence in Gregory Lestrade’s life. It would be enough for him. Even if he spent most of his nights decidedly not pining.


	19. I Found Your Goldfish

“Just…will you please come ‘round?” Greg was asking, practically at the end of his rope. The case was getting more and more difficult with each passing day, and even though Sherlock was starting to gather some kind of interest, he was still standing in the flat of 221B having to beg him to get off the couch and actually come to the scene. His irritation was running high, and he was close to either screaming at the detective or pulling his own hair out. In the kitchen, John was making tea, and while Greg appreciated the effort he didn’t think he could stomach any of it right now.

“Maybe,” came the very bored sounding response from Sherlock. Greg groaned, throwing his hands up in the air.

“Bloody hell Sherlock, how is it you get off pestering me for cases day in and day out and finally I’ve got one for you and you won’t just come?” He was baffled. He would’ve already said sod it and left if he weren’t so desperate. And tired… He was so very tired.

“It’s not the case that has you so tightly wound…” Sherlock mused, finally turning his piercing eyes on the Detective Inspector. Greg raised an eyebrow, frozen in spot, and sighed.

“What are you on about?” he groaned. He was in no mood to be deduced down to every fiber of his clothing today. But if it had any chance of helping to get him to the crime scene, he’d endure.

“You need release. Of a sexual nature, most likely. Something to keep you from going home to your dingy flat alone every night.”

“Oy!” Greg yelled, crossing his arms tightly. He was starting to fume now. Out of anyone imaginable, he absolutely did not need relationship advice from Sherlock Holmes.

“Sherlock,” he heard John fuss next to him. The doctor had entered the room, and handed Greg a steaming mug of tea. He accepted automatically, but made no motion to drink it just yet.

“Not a random encounter at the pub, though. No…” Sherlock continued, completely ignoring the two older men in the room. Greg pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel a migraine coming on. Fantastic. He opened them again as he could feel that all-knowing stare practically burning a hole through him. 

“Sherlock, please, I really need you to come take a look, it’s getting…”

“No, there’s someone specific that’s caught your interest,” the young Holmes continued, completely ignoring what Greg was trying to say. “Not someone you see every day, but someone you know enough to develop some kind of attachment to. You haven’t made a move, however, which is why you’re so tightly wound. No, this person is someone you don’t feel you have a chance with whatsoever, so you sit by making yourself miserable.”

Greg gaped. He turned to stare at John, as if looking for answers, and just got a shrug in return. How was it that Sherlock was suddenly so interested in things of this nature? He could never have been bothered with sentimental things before… Before he was supposedly dead for two years. It was strange seeing this side of him. Almost as strange as the looks he’d noticed between the two flatmates. He knew those looks all too well. He hoped it was something he and John could share a conversation about sometime soon at the pub. Until then, he said nothing.

“Why do you-“

“The ring’s a ruse, you know,” Sherlock interrupted again. Greg blinked. The…ring? Who’s ring?

“Um.”

“A ruse, yes. Don’t be tedious, Lestrade, I despise repeating myself. It was passed down to him from our grandfather in his will. I hardly knew him but apparently they were close. And so he wears it.”

He. Oh Christ, Sherlock was talking about his brother. Greg could feel the back of his neck getting hot, and quickly he turned his attention to the tea in his hands. Of course Sherlock would notice that he was pining after Mycroft bloody Holmes. This was awful. He wanted to crawl in a hole and die.

Sherlock, why are you bringing up Mycoft?” John asked, brow furrowed. His mouth opened in a silent oh upon taking in the change in Greg’s features. Gotta love that clarity. Great.

Vaguely, he heard a door open and shut. Sherlock got an eerie grin on his face, and was immediately off the couch. Footsteps sounded on the stairs, evenly spaced, and Sherlock stood there expectantly while Greg stood there confused and horrified.

“Ah, perfect. We were just talking about you,” Sherlock said, eyes locked on the front door. Greg froze, shutting his eyes and exhaling through his nose. This was not happening. He was imagining this.

“Oh dear lord, that’s never a good sign,” a smooth voice sighed. A voice that caused Greg’s chest to clench as he forgot how to breathe. He gripped his mug tighter before finally forcing himself to turn and see Mycroft Holmes standing there, umbrella in hand, looking as dashing as ever in a three-piece suit he’d never seen. An involuntary noise escaped him, causing all eyes to lock on his person.

No… Now he wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

“Mycroft, I do believe we have found you a goldfish,” Sherlock said, his voice perked with delight. The genuine surprise that came onto the elder Holmes features made Greg’s eyes widen, and after a moment, their eyes locked. Sherlock looked between them, a grin turning into a smirk, and those slender violinist hands waved between them.

“Mycroft, Detective Inspector Lestrade. Both of your rings are ruses. Both of you are having personal issues, and both of you can’t stop thinking about the other. That last tidbit had been rather aggravating for me. Why don’t you step into the kitchen and share a cup of tea, yes?”


	20. The Past

What started out as a good date – no, a fantastic date – did a fine job of screwing up royally. Greg was silently fuming as he and Mycroft left the restaurant, and the drive back home was equally silent. Beside him, his partner was patient, saying nothing, just reaching out and taking his hand supportively.

The two men hadn’t seen each other in almost a week, due to Mycroft’s work taking him to somewhere near Bolivia, he’d said. This had been his first night home, and they decided to celebrate by going out to one of their favorite restaurants for a nice dinner, and then back home for what was bound to be a massive amount of sex.

That was when Greg’s old partner from his early days at the Yard had seen him and decided to come over and chat. By chat, he was trying to brush everything under the rug and pretend like they were still old buddies, while trying to get his forgiveness and insist things were different.

Greg all but stormed into his and Mycroft’s shared home, the politician striding in gracefully behind him.

“Gregory,” the younger man finally spoke, causing him to halt in place and glance over his shoulder. Mycroft was hanging his coat and umbrella up, before walking over and tugging him into a hug. “Calm down, Gregory. We are home now. He is gone.”

Greg pressed his face into Mycroft’s neck and breathed deeply, letting some of the stress melt away from him. He closed his eyes and sighed.

“Sorry, Myc. He just… He came out of no where,” Greg mumbled, his voice muffled by Mycroft’s skin slightly. “I haven’t seen him in over ten years, and we didn’t part on nice terms.”

Mycroft rubbed his other half’s back gently, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“Tea?” he asked, stepping away. Greg nodded, even though he didn’t really want it. He walked into the kitchen with him, leaning on the counter with a sigh.

“He was crooked. Got in with such a bad crowd. It was all about the money, and the ranks. He didn’t… He didn’t care about honest police work anymore,” Greg found himself saying, pouring the story out to the love of his life. He scrubbed his face with a hand and sighed. The younger man said nothing, going about their tea preparation while listening attentively.

“Got me shot, in the end. Not on purpose, of course, but still. I almost didn’t survive surgery. And my little girl… She was barely a year old.” Greg frowned at the bad memories. He’d just barely become a father and the damn man had almost gotten him killed. Over a gang. And drugs. And he dared to come up to him tonight and beg forgiveness; acting like what happened was no big deal.

He was staring down at his hands, frowning hard, until slender fingers were under his chin and lifting his face up. Brown eyes locked with pale blue, and it made Greg’s heart skip a beat. Mycroft gazed at him affectionately, stroking his cheek.

“You are the finest Detective Inspector that Scotland Yard could have ever asked for. You are an upstanding, intelligent, honest cop. You got where you are because you worked hard, you overcame ridiculous obstacles, and you put up with so much. Myself and Sherlock included.” Greg huffed out a laugh and rolled his eyes. Mycroft immediately commanded his attention again with a slight nudge. “You are the love of my life, Gregory Lestrade, and right where you need to be. Do not concern yourself with a low-life crooked cop from your past who was unable to embrace the concepts and values you hold above all others.”

They stared at each other for a long while. Greg could feel his anger fading away, and his eyes reflected it. Mycroft gave him a soft smile and leaned in, kissing him gently. They kissed for ages, until the need for air and the kettle caused them to pull away.

“Thank you Myc,” Greg whispered softly, pressing their foreheads together.

“Always, my dear Gregory. Now, tea?”


	21. The Queen Pt 1

The last time Greg was so eager for something, he had been ready to propose to the love of his life. Maybe, in comparison to something as huge as getting engaged to the man he was spending the rest of his life with, this was peanuts, but regardless. He could barely contain his excitement (and quite frankly, his arousal), throughout the day. As he tried focusing on paperwork, his eyes kept glancing at the fancy black box he’d set beside his desk, and thinking about the contents inside…

It took every ounce of self-control not to leap off the couch later that night when Mycroft got home from work. Clearing his throat and taking a deep breath, he strode through to the front door with a smile, pulling the younger man into a hug and kiss, as he did rather often.

“Welcome home, love,” he whispered, gazing up at his other half’s eyes. He got a warm smile in return, and another kiss.

“I am glad to be so,” Mycroft said sincerely, before hanging up his umbrella and heavy coat. Before his partner could make his way towards the kitchen for tea, Greg grabbed his hand and tugged him upstairs toward their bedroom.

“Gregory?” Mycroft started to question, blinking in confusion as he was pulled to the edge of the bed and made to sit down.

“I have something for you,” Greg grinned, eyes shining with excitement. Mycroft raised an eyebrow, watching as the older man went to retrieve the box he’d kept looking at all day long. His stomach was fluttering as he knelt back down in front of his partner. He did not open the box, though. Not yet.

Slowly, Greg began to run his hands down Mycroft’s leg, starting up at the knee and making his way down to the ankle. Mycroft hummed softly, enjoying the sensation, even if he was still terribly confused as to what was going on. Then, Greg began untying his dress shoe, pulling the laces apart slowly, before slipping it off and setting it to the side. He repeated this entire motion on his other leg. Then, he slipped his hands up the leg opening, pushing his trousers up as far as they would allow. Leaning in, he began to press soft, slow kisses to Mycroft’s shin as his hands moved to tug off his socks, where they were set with his shoes. Only after Mycroft’s feet were bare and his legs exposed up to the knee did Greg look up at his husband.

“Gregory?” Mycroft questioned again slowly, blinking at the look in those dark brown orbs he loved so much. He could pick up the hints of arousal easily, and it caused a slow burning to start in the pit of his own stomach. All Greg did was smile, before leaning back to resume his kissing. His hands rested against Mycroft’s leg, slowly kneading the muscles in a massage. It pulled a happy noise from the politician’s throat, his eyes fluttering closed. Greg continued this for a moment before letting go and opening the box.

The heels that he pulled out had been quite a difficult choice to make. He ended up choosing a pair that was black satin with an open toe and a strap that wrapped around the ankle. Climbing up the heel was a golden creeping flower design, and the ankle strap had a royal blue ribbon threaded through it that ended in a noticeable, but not overbearingly large bow (the same blue that, conveniently, Mycroft had chosen for a tie earlier that morning). Licking his lips, his heart pounding, Greg slipped the heel onto Mycroft’s foot, gazing at the way it slid on rather perfectly. Then, he moved up to fasten the strap, gazing at the little muscles on the other man’s ankle as it adjusted.

Mycroft’s eyes flew open wide, and he looked down at what was going on. His mouth dropped open in surprise, Greg looking up just in time to catch the reaction. His grin widened.

“You remember our conversation about how much I worship your legs?” Greg asked deeply, which was the only explanation that was needed. The older man watched as his husband’s blue eyes grew a little darker as his pupils dilated. Yes, he definitely caught his drift. Heart rate escalating a bit, Greg broke their locked gaze and went back to the task, getting the other heel on as well. Then, he rested back on his haunches and gazed up at Mycroft.

Who, as Greg reached out to grasp his knees, lifted one of his legs and pressed his now heel-clad foot square against Greg’s chest. Greg blinked, glancing down, and then with no hesitation, was shoved to the floor. He fell back onto his elbows and his head jerked up. It was his turn to have surprise written all over his face. Mycroft stood, now towering over his husband, a smirk starting to spread onto his face. It was an expression that shot heat straight down to Greg’s groin.

“Well now, Detective Inspector,” Mycroft finally spoke again, his voice having dropped a fair amount as well. “Seems to me you’ve been up to no good.”


	22. The Queen Pt 2

Greg wasn’t completely sure how he’d ended up the way he had, but it was sending such intense excitement through him. Mycroft had a rather intimidating presence as he stood over him, hands on his hips, having shoved the older man down onto the floor with a possessive gleam in his eyes. Biting his lip, he broke the gaze they had held to slide down his body.

The heels he had slipped onto his husband’s feet had been a lovelier choice than he’d been prepared for. Dark brown eyes looked up and down his legs, gazing at the way his calves stood out more prominently in the elevated state. The shape and curve became so much more exaggerated, and Greg wanted to touch and kiss and stroke it.

“Get up, Detective Inspector,” Mycroft said deeply after a moment. Greg managed to pull his eyes away from the man’s legs and back up at him, before nodding and pushing himself up. He took a step forward with the intention of pulling him into a rough kiss, but a hand on his chest stopped him.

“Myc?” he asked, his voice deep. Mycroft looked very pointedly at him.

“I don’t believe you gained the right to call me that tonight,” he growled. Greg shivered. Leaning close, Mycroft pressed his lips right up against his ear, his voice barely above a whisper, hot breath hitting the older man’s skin. “No, Detective, that won’t do at all. Something more appropriate, such as Your Highness.”

“Oh JesusfuckingChrist,” Greg groaned. Something that he’d randomly thought about was quickly turning into a full-blown kink, and it seemed that his other half was more than happy to indulge him. His trousers were terribly tight and something needed to be done about it soon. Mycroft chuckled, pulling Greg back into the now.

“Not quite,” he commented, his smirk widening, “Take your jacket off.”

Greg did so instantly. He found himself ready to do anything he was told. Mycroft seemed ready to take control, ready to command, and Greg was more than happy with that situation. He tugged the jacket off and dropped it to the ground. Reaching forward, Mycroft unfastened the buttons of his shirt expertly, and ran his manicured nails down his shortly exposed chest. 

Greg groaned. Unable to stop himself, he reached forward and grasped Mycroft’s tie, tugging them together and kissing him hard. There was sucking and biting, full of raw desire, the kind of kiss that could leave marks. Mycroft let it happen for a moment before breaking the kiss and almost glaring.

“Did I say you could kiss me, Detective Inspector?” he asked roughly.

“N-no… Your Highness,” Greg whimpered.

“Then why did you?”

“Because…” 

“Because why, Detective Inspector?”

“Because I’ve been up to no good.” Greg felt breathless. His husband had a domineering presence that was taking over every fiber of him. He was aching for Mycroft, head spinning, and he wanted to clutch at him again so badly. He yearned for his touch, his kiss, and even more. He wasn’t one to beg, but he would gladly do so.

“Precisely. I believe a punishment is in order.” Mycroft grabbed Greg’s arm and dove in, kissing him again heatedly and moving them a bit, so he could shove the older man down onto the bed. He bounced on the mattress, moving to sit up, before yet again a heel collided with his chest. This time, however, it remained for a moment. Greg took this opportunity to dive forward and start running his hands along the curve of his calf, feeling the hardened muscle. He began kissing Mycroft’s ankle, nuzzling the dip behind it, massaging his shin. The politician allowed a soft noise of pleasure to escape, and Greg was able to continue this for a moment before he was pushing to lie on the bed. Mycroft climbed on his knees, straddling the older man but not quite touching him, staring down at him heatedly.

“You are at my mercy tonight, Detective Inspector. You will do as I wish you to. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes Your Highness.”

Greg’s heart was racing. Yes. He understood, and he was ready and willing for anything. He was craving it. Mycroft began to get closer, a possessive look in his eyes as he scraped his nails through silvery hair.

“Good,” Mycroft growled, leaning in for another rough kiss. “If you behave and follow instructions properly, I’ll make it very worth your while.”


	23. Book Club

“Gregory? What are you reading?”

Greg glanced up from the book he had in his hand to gaze at Mycroft, who had just walked into the living room. The younger man had been holed up in his study for almost three hours, after having to take a phone call and interrupting their cuddle session. He bookmarked his spot and sat it down.

“Abarat,” he said, glancing at the front cover. Mycroft’s gaze followed, arching an eyebrow.

“Interesting…” Mycroft said, getting an amused look on his face. Then, he noticed the large stack of books sitting on the table next to his partner and tilted his head to better see the spines. He got gradually more amused with each one he saw. “Looking for Alaska, Harry Potter, Redwall… Stardust, The Hobbit…?”

“Oh shut up Myc,” Greg frowned, crossing his arms. “I’m reading them along with Abby, okay? She wanted us to start a little Skype Book Club thing.”

Abby was Greg’s eleven-year-old daughter, and the little firecracker took after her father in many ways. She was a bit of a tomboy, had been playing football on an actual team for three years now, and thanks to the custody agreement with his ex-wife, she only got to stay with them one week a month. Granted, that was better than one weekend, but still. So, in their position, Abby had decided that they should start up a book club that they video chatted about through Skype.

“Yes, but… The Princess Diaries?” Mycroft asked, picking up the book on the top of the stack and smirking. He turned the book over to show the older man the cover; bright pink with a shiny crown on it.

“It’s actually pretty good. You can hush up and go read your Shakespeare and Dickens and…whoever wrote Beowulf,” Greg said all defensively. Mycroft returned the book to the stack and chuckled as he moved to sit down next to him on the couch. 

“No need to get upset, darling,” he sighed, grin still on his face, as he wrapped an arm around Greg’s shoulders. “It’s just an amusing selection, is all.”

“Your face is amusing.”

“Oh come on now, Gregory, those books are making you act childish.”

“They’re good books,” Greg stressed again, though he put up no fight when he was pulled to lean against his partner’s side. He pressed his cheek against Mycroft’s shoulder and sighed softly.

“Apologies, darling. It was not my intention to insult you, or dear Abigail’s choice of reading. I think it’s wonderful the two of you are doing something like this. It’s a good way to bond,” Mycroft spoke soothingly, running his hand up and down Greg’s bicep. After a moment, Greg lifted his head and leaned in to kiss the younger man gently, smiling as he pulled back.

“Apology accepted,” he whispered, kissing him again before straightening himself and reaching for the copy of Abarat he’d been reading. “Now if you’re really good, I can read aloud to you.”

“I’ll pass, Gregory, thank you.”

“Chapter twelve,” Greg said, ignoring his boyfriend with a shit-eating grin on his face. “It was a bizarre journey for Candy. For John Mischief too, she suspected.”

“Oh good lord. I’m going to make some tea.” Mycroft stood, walking briskly out of the room. Greg laughed and shouted the next sentence out loud after his retreating form.


	24. Day At The Park

“This is awful,” Mycroft groaned as he was very reluctantly dragged along the sidewalk. His highly amused partner, Gregory, was walking along beside him with a grin on his face. It was most certainly not funny.

“Well, Myc, you are the one that sent John and Sherlock to Paris for a case. So… you kinda dug this grave,” the older man responded, snorting in amusement as very eager bulldog tried running down the path of the park, causing Mycroft to grunt as he gripped tightly at the leash that was somehow still attached.

“I still do not understand why they decided to get this ridiculous creature,” Mycroft continued to fuss, trying to reign the pup in. He’d hoped for a calm stroll through the park while it did its business, but apparently that was not going to happen.

“Because Gladstone is adorable,” Greg said, motioning towards the dog. Mycroft looked at him pointedly. Adorable was not the word he was leaning towards to describe it. “And John loves him. Besides, you said yourself Sherlock had a dog when he was younger. It just makes sense.”

Mycroft huffed. Making sense or not, it was still a rather ridiculous inconvenience for them. What was going to be a quiet week of relaxation, as the two men had gotten the majority of their time off from both their jobs for once, had turn into a dog sitting week. Yes, he had sent his brother and the good doctor off on a case, but he had been under the impression that Mrs. Hudson would watch Gladstone. He firmly believed this was Sherlock’s revenge for giving him the case to begin with.

“Here, love, let me take over,” his partner said after a moment, reaching over to take the leash from his grip. Mycroft sighed in relief as the tugging stopped, and gave his aching shoulder a rest. Gregory was much better with the dog than he was. Though, Mycroft had never been good with dogs. Redbeard had been Sherlock’s dog, and his little brother had been at the age that he was very possessive over his canine companion. Mycroft’s experience with the animal was very slim.

They wandered over to the grass as Gladstone caught scent of something he apparently found extremely fascinating. Adjusting his waistcoat, Mycroft trailed behind Gregory a little bit, watching the older man with the dog. He seemed to be a natural with Gladstone. If Mycroft weren’t so turned off by the hyperactive nature of most dogs he’d ever come in contact with, he would almost consider getting them one. It was rather adorable watching the two of them play, and listening to Gregory’s laughter. It would, however, be rather impossible for them to keep such an animal in their home, so it wasn’t something he considered, really. In all honesty, a cat would be better suited for them.

Mycroft walked over to a bench and sat down, crossing his legs and focusing on getting his breath back. The little pup was feisty, that was for sure. He felt like he’d sufficiently gotten his workout for the day. Looking over, he sighed with affection as he saw Gregory sitting on the ground, wrestling with Gladstone, who was eager for the attention. As he’d said, adorable.

“Wanna join us, Myc?” Gregory asked, turning his head to look at him. The grin on his face was wide, and the shine in his eyes was mischievous. Mycroft gave him and pointed look and raised his hand in a polite decline.

“Don’t be foolish, Gregory. I am not getting on the ground.”

Gregory chuckled a bit, turning his attention back to Gladstone.

“I know,” he said, not taking his eyes off the animal jumping into his arms and barking. “Just teasing.”

Mycroft smirked slightly, keeping his attention on the expressions of delight on his other half’s face. He supposed it wasn’t too bad of a day at the park, after all.


	25. A Lovely Morning

Mycroft so enjoyed his Saturday mornings as of late. It had come to his attention that Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade enjoyed to take his team out and all play football in a park near the Yard. In his curiosity, the politician drove by one day and became entranced.

He had, a while ago, accepted his attraction for the older man that his younger brother pestered so frequently. Watching him play football, however… It became something he came to watch more and more often. He never made his presence known, of course, because he imagined that would be rather embarrassing.

Today, unfortunately, he no longer had to imagine. As usual, he sat near the edge of the field in the back of one of his black vehicles, admiring the way he saw Gregory bending and stretching in between plays. It really was sinful watching the way his legs bent in those shorts, or when he bent over… Mycroft didn’t usually pause and admire an individual’s backside, but Gregory Lestrade’s definitely deserved admiring. When the man straightened and poured water over his face, though, Mycroft’s mouth gaped.

“Good lord…” he muttered to himself, eyes widening at the sight. How was such a simple act so utterly arousing? He cleared his throat, resting his elbow on the window, and glanced away momentarily. As he looked back up, however, he noticed Gregory looking… right over at him. Staring and grinning. And walking over. Mycroft immediately felt mortified. The two of them had known each other long enough that he could recognize Mycroft’s forms of transportation, and here he was, walking across the field and over to him. He considered telling the driver to leave immediately. However, his window of opportunity passed. So, accepting his fate, he sighed and stepped out onto the grass.

“Mycroft Holmes, to what do I owe the pleasure this morning?” Gregory asked, jogging over and stopping in front of him. He was breathless from the intense physical activities he’d just been participating in, and there was a sheen of sweat along his forehead and neck. Mycroft stared. His eyes flicked to the heaving of his chest, and immediately his mind took them to a different location. A more intimate location, with both of them wearing far less clothing. Oh dear. This was not an ideal situation at all.

“Just… checking in on the results of your case,” Mycroft managed to get out; a complete lie, of course. What was it about the Detective Inspector that put his mind on a blank slate? He eyed the man again, observing the way his hands rested on his hips, and found himself longing to replace those hands with his own. He cleared his throat and managed a tight smile. Gregory looked at him in a way that led him to believe the older man wasn’t buying that whatsoever.

“Ah. And you… Didn’t just swing by the office?” he asked, his grin widening. He had to know. Mycroft was usually so good at not giving himself away, but it seemed that it was not working to his favor today. He was feeling more and more mortified as the seconds ticked away.

“Yes, well. I, um,” Mycroft found himself stammering. He did not stammer, he needed to get a hold of himself. Whatever train of thought he was attempting to come up with, however, was cut short as he heard a shout on the field behind them.

“Hey, heads up!!” Phillip Anderson shouted. Mycroft turned to look and see what was going on, and happened to see a ball flying through the air. Right. At. Him. He didn’t have time to react before a body collided with him, pushing him to the side as the ball whipped past. He could feel the brush of wind in his face where it just barely missed him, and let out a surprised noise as it bounced to the ground. 

Only then did he realize how he got out of the way. Gregory was suddenly much closer to him. Closer as in their bodies were pressed against each other. He could feel the warmth of the older man’s body sinking into him, and could actually feel the way his panting chest pressed against his own. A mixture of scents surrounded his nose: deodorant, cologne, and sweat… It was an unspeakably Gregory smell. Again his mind went to his more intimate location, and he had to try his hardest not to let out a groan in the back of his throat. Their eyes connected, and Mycroft could practically feel his heart leap up into his throat.

It was Gregory who stepped back first, squeezing Mycroft’s bicep gently and exhaling.

“That was close,” he commented, running a hand through his hair, which caused the silvery strands to spike up a bit. “Sorry, Mycroft. Anderson is absolute rubbish at football. He can’t kick it straight to save his life.”

“It’s…alright,” Mycroft commented, clearing his throat again. He gripped his umbrella a little tighter than normal, attempting to curb the intense heat flooding through him now. This was embarrassing.

“Listen,” Gregory continued after a moment. “How about we meet up for lunch, okay? We can talk about the…case then. I’m sure you’ve got a lot to do, being the British Government and all.”

With that, the Detective Inspector jogged over to grab the stray ball and started to make his way back to the field, turning his head to look at Mycroft and grin. And wink. Mycroft could definitely feel himself blushing at that. He nodded, trying to keep himself composed as he climbed back into his car to try and avoid the fact that he was crawling back to privacy. Once the door was shut, he let out a sigh mixed with a groan mixed with a whimper. That was ridiculous. He couldn’t remember the last time his mind had gone straight to sex so intensely. Never mind the fact that he already fantasized about the two of them doing very inappropriate things together. This latest encounter was sure to heighten those fantasies.

Lunch would be interesting. There was no case for them to really discuss. His most recent one had been of no significance to his position. Which meant… 

Lunch would definitely be interesting.


	26. January Guest Writer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This drabble written by my lovely dear friend GooberFeesh. :D

It was a muffled sound of contentment that drew Mycroft's focus away from the screen of his mobile to the head that laid on his lap. He and Gregory were sat on the sofa - well, he was sat on the sofa; Gregory was lounging - and his lover had taken it upon himself to use Mycroft's thighs as a makeshift pillow. 

A smile upturned the younger man's lips as he walked two nimble fingers down the bumpy slope of Gregory's nose. "Cozy?" he asked, amused. 

"Mmmn," came the thoroughly satisfied response. 

Mycroft chuckled softly and then relocated his long digits to reside in Gregory's hair; he stroked the salt-and-pepper strands affectionately, which encouraged yet another deep groan of pleasure from his lap. 

"If you keep at that, I'll f-fall…" Gregory broke off, yawning massively. "…I'll fall asleep." 

"Then perhaps I should stop at the risk of compromising your sleep schedule," Mycroft teased, pausing in his soothing actions. 

"I'll beg, Myc. You know I will." 

"How very tempting…" 

Mycroft's hand hovered as Gregory turned his head to gaze up at him. His brows were furrowed and his dark eyes gleamed with a level of pitifulness so tremendous that it predated his age by at least four decades. Of course, it also didn't help that his bottom lip had protruded itself slightly, creating what was undeniably the most pathetic pout Mycroft had ever witnessed (and that said a lot when one's younger brother was Sherlock "petulant child" Holmes). 

"Really, Gregory," he sighed, resuming his methodic strokes. 

His other half seemed immensely pleased with himself, and it reflected in the way his vulnerable expression transformed into one of unmistakable triumph: He grinned, his large central incisors white and beautiful in his lovely mouth. 

Refraining from rolling his eyes, Mycroft stated: "I rather like your hair at this length." 

"Yeah?" Gregory asked, retaking his previous position with his cheek pressed against the comfortable pair of thighs. 

"Indeed. I ask that you reconsider your monthly grooming and grant me another week or so of admiring these marvelous silver locks." 

It was Gregory's turn to chuckle. "Christ. Where were you when I started graying at thirty? I would've loved to hear that." 

Mycroft's fingers raked over the crown of his partner's head now, straight over the field of black follicles that had yet to lose their pigment. He repeated the gesture in that particular area for a minute and then moved to the one temple that was exposed to him; it was here that he used a single manicured fingernail to scratch over Gregory's sideburn. 

"My sincerest apologies for not having found you sooner, darling, but do believe me when I say that I fully intend to offer continuous amounts of unabashed flattery as I see it fit," he finally replied, ever the eloquent embellisher. 

Unfortunately, his elaborate praise fell upon deaf ears for a soft stream of snores very quickly informed Mycroft that Gregory had - just as he'd forewarned - fallen asleep. Nevertheless, the stroking of the older man's hair continued as fluidly and gracefully as it had been, even when Mycroft's attention eventually returned to his mobile some moments later.


	27. Can't Sleep

Mycroft held back a groan of relief as he stepped through the threshold of his home. He set his suitcase to the side and hung up his jacket and umbrella in silence. He’d just gotten home from a business trip that had taken a week, and things had gotten rather hectic. The politician hadn’t slept a wink in over 36 hours. There had been too much to do. And while he had been able to push back any fatigue to get his work done, now that he was home it was all crashing down on him.

Gregory hadn’t gotten home yet, so the house was empty apart from him. He had assumed as much. With a small frown, he made his way to the bedroom to put up the contents of his suitcase, and to change into a comfortable set of pajamas. Everything was hung up and put in the clothes bin properly, as needed, before he would allow himself a moment’s pause. Pulling on his house robe, he headed back to the kitchen to make some tea.

As he was finishing his cup, the front door opened and closed again, announcing his partner’s arrival. Mycroft covered his mouth as a particularly intense yawn assaulted him, and he made his way to greet the older man.

“Myc, welcome home,” Gregory smiled sweetly, pulling him into a hug. “How was everything?”

“Exhausted,” Mycroft huffed irritably. Those wonderful brown eyes he loved so much softened greatly, and he heaved a sigh, which melted into another large yawn.

“Let’s go to bed, yeah?” he had prompted, without asking when the last he’d slept was. Mycroft just nodded, following his partner wordlessly back to the bedroom. He went ahead and crawled in bed as Gregory changed into his own pajamas, before he was joined.

One would assume that laying in one’s own bed, with the warmth of your boyfriend next to you, without the urgency of any kind of work floating overhead, that one could fall asleep fairly easily. Yet, Mycroft lay there, just staring at the ceiling, eyes wide open. He was beyond exhausted, and he couldn’t get to sleep. He sighed. Next to him, the bed shifted as Gregory turned onto his side and gazed over at him.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked. Mycroft huffed another sigh and eyed the older man.

“That should be fairly obvious,” he said a little more harshly than he had meant. It had to have been the fatigue, causing him to get irritable. Gregory didn’t seem fazed by it, however. Instead, he wrapped his arms around the younger man and pulled him close, pressing a kiss to his temple. Mycroft curled into him, pressing his face into the crook of his neck. 

Gregory began running his fingers through Mycroft’s ginger hair, moving down to his neck, and repeating. Then, after a few moments of silence, he began humming. Mycroft didn’t recognize the tune. Arching an eyebrow, he pulled back enough to look up at him.

“What are you doing?” he asked softly, staring at the man with tired eyes.

“Used to sing to the girls when they couldn’t sleep, when they were young,” Gregory responded by way of explanation. Mycroft blinked.

“I am not a child, Gregory,” he muttered, his brow furrowing slightly.

“I am aware. Just trust me, Myc.”

Mycroft didn’t respond, but after a second he nodded, and nuzzled close again. His partner resumed his humming. In the dimly lit room, Mycroft focused on those sounds, and the feeling of arms wrapped around him, and calm breaths. He allowed his eyes to shut as he enjoyed the sensations.

He couldn’t say when it was he fell asleep. It was definitely not more than ten minutes after the humming had started. The sleep he fell into was deep and peaceful, rid of all worries. Just he and Gregory. The way it was meant to be.


	28. Exams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teen AU

“Myc, I am absolutely freaking out,” Greg sighed, running a hand through his hair and practically collapsing on his boyfriend’s bed. He covered his eyes with his arm, wanting to will it all away. No exams, no grades, just…none of it.

“They’re not that bad Gregory, honestly. Shall I quiz you?” the posh younger boy asked from where he was sitting at his desk. He was technically a grade younger than Greg, but he was taking last level classes, so they shared a majority of them. It was how the two teenagers met. They’d never expected their meeting to end up with them dating, as had no one else in the entire school, but that’s what happened. Somehow, the rough, almost punky Greg Lestrade had wormed his way into the heart of Mycroft Holmes, who only associated with people on a professional level (students and teachers alike).

“I don’t know…” Greg groaned, uncovering his eyes and propping himself up on his elbows. He gazed over at Mycroft with another sigh, frowning. It wasn’t that he had bad grades. He was pretty smart, considering. But a few of these classes were just intensely difficult. He’d been studying his arse off for days and he still didn’t feel ready.

“The key is to remain calm,” Mycroft spoke again after a moment, standing and moving to join his boyfriend on the bed. He remained sitting upright however, not relining like Greg was, and glanced over at him. “You’ve retained more than you believe, of this I am sure.”

“How can you be?” Greg asked, arching an eyebrow. Mycroft smirked at him.

“Because you are more intelligent than you give yourself credit for. You retain more when you have a clear mind. So stop stressing about it, and quit trying to cram the material. Study, take a break, and then study a bit more. And don’t think for a moment that I’m going to let you sit up the night before and try to jam things in, because your mind doesn’t work that way.”

Greg sighed, but nodded. He supposed a break was warranted. He’d been studying in Mycroft’s room for a while, and the longer it got, the more stressed he found himself. He knew his boyfriend was right, because he usually always was. Of course he knew Greg’s brain better than Greg did himself. He couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“You know my mind so well,” he voiced the thought aloud, glancing over at him. Mycroft nodded.

“Of course I do. If I did not, or your mind was not worth knowing, we would not be quite in the position we are now,” he said. To other people, a sentence like that might come across as cold or harsh, but not to Greg. It just made him smile.

“I know another position I’d like us to be in,” Greg said, his grin widening.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Gregory,” Mycroft sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Well, you said I should take a break…” Greg shifted his weight suggestively, eyes locking with the younger boy’s. Even though Mycroft sighed again, he did roll to lie almost right on top of the older boy. The tips of their noses touched, and Greg slid his arms around Mycroft’s torso.

“I suppose something stimulating wouldn’t be a bad thing…” Mycroft grinned, leaning down to kiss Greg. They kissed for a good while, slow and unhurried, just enjoying the feeling of being together. As Mycroft shifted to get on top of the older boy a bit more directly, however, the kiss started to change. It began to get more intense, and more suggestive. 

Greg slid his hands down and slipped them under his boyfriend’s shirt, sliding them up his bare back. Slender hands returned the gesture by running through black hair, and Greg nibbled on Mycroft’s bottom lip a bit. Finally, they had to break away so they could breathe. Both boys panted softly, pupils wider and making both their eyes darker. Greg’s previous grin grew more seductive, and his brushed their noses together again lightly.

“Much better to focus on than the exams,” he muttered breathlessly, going in to start kissing and biting at Mycroft’s neck. The younger boy groaned softly, clutching at him and tilting his head back for a bit more access. Yes… A break had been a good idea for them both.


	29. Unexpected Vacation

“Alright Boss, come on. Up,” Sally Donovan fussed, hands on her hips with that extremely serious look on her face. Greg, who had been slumped over paperwork and frowning at nothing in particular, lifted his head from his hand with a confused look on his face.

“What, Donovan?” he sighed, leaning back in his chair. He just wanted to finish this bloody paperwork and go home. Maybe get some sleep. Not that it mattered.

“Get. Up. Follow me. This is not up for negotiation,” Sally sighed, opening his office door wide and gesturing out. Greg sighed in irritation and rubbed his face with a groan. 

“I don’t have time for this, Donovan,” he groaned, but pushed his chair back and stood anyway. He really hoped this wouldn’t take took long. Snatching his mobile, he stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket and followed his sergeant through the Yard and out onto the street. They stopped in front of a black car and Sally turned, handing Greg a bag. He arched an eyebrow.

“In the car, Boss,” she said in a tone that wasn’t a request. Greg opened his mouth to say something, but her look became more pointed, so he sighed and just decided to do what she said. That was easier than tempting her wrath. So, he opened the door and ducked in, sitting down and shutting the door behind him.

His mouth dropped open as he realized he was not alone in the car. Sitting on the other side was Mycroft Holmes, a man he hadn’t seen in over a month. 

“Hello Gregory,” the politician smiled politely. Greg couldn’t decide whether to yell, grin, or kiss his boyfriend stupid. He’d been out of the country for longer than Greg cared to think about, and then when he’d gotten back Greg had been so buried in a serial killer case that he’d been practically sleeping at the Yard. He’d barely seen his own flat, let alone the younger man’s.

“Myc?” he questioned, but sighed in relief. Then, he glanced at the other bag in the car, assuming it was his. He looked back up curiously. “What’s happening?”

“I assure you, for once, I have no idea,” Mycroft sighed, crossing his legs. He picked up an envelope and held it out. “Though, I was instructed we opened this once we were both in the vehicle. Would you like to do the honors?”

Greg nodded, reaching over to take the envelope. Their fingers touched, and their lingered for a moment as the touch caused his heart to leap up in his throat. Christ, he had missed Mycroft. Finally, though, he cleared his throat, took the envelope, and pulled it open. He glanced at what was written and his eyebrows practically shot up into his hairline. Mycroft waited patiently, and he cleared his throat before reading it out.

“The two of you have been pains in our arse all month. You both get irritable, overbearing, and annoying when you don’t see each other. So, we are sending you on a vacation. You will go on this vacation, and you will not return before the allotted time is up. In the trunk of the car is the entire luggage you will require. The driver is taking you to the airport, where he will give you the proper paperwork and your plane tickets. So go, shag each other senseless, and be happy. No work. Both of your schedules have been properly rearranged. Yours, A and S.” 

Silence fell in the car. Greg stared at the paper, rereading the message, before handing it to Mycroft, who did the same. Then, as he was finished, he folded the paper back up and glanced over at Greg.

“Anthea and Sally, huh?” Greg asked.

“It would seem so,” Mycroft nodded. There were a few more moments of silence, before Greg shifted closer to the younger man. Their hands touched on the seat of the car, and after a moment, they threaded their fingers together.

“A vacation,” Greg whispered.

“Indeed.”

“Shag each other senseless.”

“Those were the words used.”

Both men started laughing after a heartbeat. Their grip one each other tightened, and Greg turned so that his body was more directly facing his boyfriend. It was amazing how easily he gravitated towards Mycroft without really thinking about it.

“It’s a dangerous thing, those two working together,” he all but giggled. “They might just take over the world if we’re not careful, Myc.”

Mycroft’s smile was genuine now, his eyes bright with laughter. He was stunning. It caused Greg’s breath to hitch in his throat briefly. Their laughter began to die off, and Greg reached over to stroke the younger man’s smooth cheek.

“Think we have to wait to reach out destination before I ‘shag you senseless’, as they say?” he whispered. Mycroft’s eyes widened, shifting down to Greg’s mouth, chest, and then back to his eyes. He seemed to shiver slightly, his pupils widening. While Greg had no complete plan to actually have sex in the back of the car, but it didn’t stop him from lifting up and climbing onto Mycroft’s lap, leaning down to initiate a heated kiss. Mycroft returned the kiss eagerly, gripping Greg’s waist and pulling him close.

One of them groaned, both panting softly as they finally broke apart.

“God I’ve missed you,” Greg said breathlessly, leaning back in to nip at Mycroft’s bottom lip. The grip on his waist tightened.

“And I you,” he retuned, just as breathless. His usually smooth voice wavered slightly as Greg leaned down and began kissing his neck. “Gregory, if you don’t stop, I won’t be able to wait until we reach out destination.”

A mischievous grin slid onto Greg’s face, and the kisses increased in their intensity. He also took a moment to rock their hips together, causing Mycroft to yelp.

“Perhaps that’s the point,” he said seductively, sucking on Mycroft’s collarbone. The politician arched up, pressing their bodies together.

“Yes, perhaps.”


	30. Love Is Irrational

Mycroft wasn’t sure at first what time he woke up. However, upon doing so, he reached over to find the area next to him empty. Confused, he lifted his head and blinked, waking almost immediately. Gregory had been called into the Yard, but he assumed the older man would’ve been back home by now. It had been a few hours, and his mobile had no messages…

After a few moments, he got a call from Doctor Watson. Who breathlessly informed him that Gregory and Sherlock had been ambushed and injured while chasing a perp. What started out as exhausted irritation grew into concern as John began talking about how they wouldn’t let him see either man, or even tell him if they were alright.

He was out of bed immediately, and within minutes he was out of his pajamas and into one of his suits. He shot off a text at lightning speed, summoning one of his cars, and was out the door and on the way to the hospital right after. His exterior was its usual calm, smooth, collected self, but his mind was racing. If they didn’t let John, a doctor, see either man, how bad off were they? He was certain that they would allow him in, if they knew what was good for them, and for once he wished he had just as much control over the traffic as Gregory teased him to have.

Finally, he made it to Barts, and strode in quickly. He picked out John’s sandy blonde hair amongst those in the waiting room and made his way over.

“Doctor Watson?” he prompted, shifting his umbrella from one hand to the other. John looked up, startled, but nodded and stood.

“They’re both somewhere back there…” he mumbled, waving his hand towards a hallway. “I have no idea what’s happening.”

“I’ll find out, I ensure you. Remain here.”

Turning, Mycroft made his way over to the reception desk, leaning over slightly and clearing his throat to gain attention of the attending nurse. She was sitting at a computer and chewing gum at an obnoxious rate, which practically made him cringe. He sighed through his nose as he was, not surprisingly, ignored.

“Pardon me,” he said in a clipped tone, causing her head to jerk up. “Gregory Lestrade’s room, if you would be so kind.”

The woman glanced at her sheets, reading the names and notes on it.

“I’m sorry, are you family?” she asked. “Because if not-“

“Gregory. Lestrade’s. Room. Please. I will not ask again.” He gave her a pointed look, one that had her almost squirming in her seat, and she nodded, muttering the number and proceeding to cower behind the computer monitor.

Turning, he made his way through the double doors and down the hall without the briefest glance back behind him. His long legs still couldn’t seem to take him fast enough, but he finally found the room and all but stormed in. Gregory, who was sitting on the bed in the room, looked up in surprise and blinked.

“Oh, Myc,” he breathed, visibly relaxing. Mycroft, however, was not so easily appeased. He strode over and reached out, grasping the older man’s cheeks with his slender hands, and let his pale eyes roam along his form. Checking for any abnormalities, any injuries, anything at all… Gregory seemed to pick up on that after a moment and reached up, putting his hands on top of Mycroft’s, brown eyes softening immensely.

“I’m okay,” he said softly after a moment of silence between them. “Really. Minor concussion and a cut along my arm, but it’s not deep. It’s wrapped up already, and it didn’t even need stitches. So stop looking for something that’s not there.”

Mycroft could feel an intensity uncurling inside of him. It might not have been a physical thing, but even still, it seemed like Gregory could just tell. How that man could read him so well, Mycroft would never know.

“When John called me,” he said, his voice smooth as it always was, but almost strained. “Said he couldn’t see either of you. I feared the worst. You put me out of my right mind, Gregory Lestrade.”

“I’m aware,” he nodded, grinning brightly. Slowly, he stood, pressing against the taller man and kissing him sweetly. Mycroft made a soft whimper of relief in the back of his throat. “It’s called love, Mycroft dear.”

“Love is irrational,” he huffed against Gregory’s lips. They shared a breathless laugh with each other.

“I know. I’m your irrationality.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, my darling Gregory.”


	31. For Always

Greg felt… strange. He was surrounded by people: friends, family, the community, but as he stood in front of the glossy coffin containing his father, he’d never felt so alone. He’d just been with him last month, and the old man had been lively as ever. They ran the kitchen together, like old times, a synchronization they’d always had with one another. Now here he was. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest as a chill went through his body.

Someone was speaking, though he didn’t know whom. He could barely register the words that were being said either. It was all a dull ringing in his ears. He wasn’t crying, and he honestly didn’t think he had at all since hearing the news a few days earlier. Next to him, however, his mother had a handkerchief up to her face, wiping away tears as they emerged. He remained a solid force next to her, because that’s what he had to do. She needed him now more than ever, and he had to be there.

After a while, people began to stop by in front of him and his mum to pay their respects, provide hugs and offers of support, all of which they both thanked automatically. Greg was on autopilot. He didn’t really care about any of these people’s support, because nothing they could do would actually help. He just wanted to go home and sleep for days. He was only half looking at the people stepping in front of him, nodding and returning hugs as they were given to him, though his eyes tended to lock on the grass at his feet more than the people walking by.

After a moment, as the last of the people were filtering out, the air around him changed. Someone stood in front of him, and he recognized those shoes, and…umbrella. For a second, Greg couldn’t breathe, and he forced himself to look up, which put him face to face with Mycroft. His brown eyes widened. Mycroft was silent, but his eyes were so expressive. There was affection and sorrow in those blue orbs, and if they didn’t stop looking at each other, Greg feared he would break down on the spot. He hadn’t introduced Mycroft to his parents yet. They knew he was dating someone, and that he was dating a man, but nothing else. They had planned a trip a bit closer to Christmas, but now Mycroft would never meet his father.

Yet here he was. His mom continued to stand patiently next to him, but he could feel her eyes on him, as he stood frozen, staring. 

“Mycroft…” he practically gasped, his eyes shimmering with tears that threatened to fall any moment. “How did you…?”

“My meeting was concluded early,” came the smooth answer. “I can only apologize for not being here sooner.”

He reached out as if to clasp their hands together, but Greg found he no longer gave a rat’s ass. Stepping forward, he pulled his boyfriend into a tight hug, burying his face into the younger man’s slender neck and gripping his suit jacket tightly. Mycroft went stiff in his arms and his breath hitched, as if unsure about the public display in front of his mother. After a second, however, he wrapped his slender arms around Greg’s torso and returned the hug with equal fervor.

“Thank you,” he said, his words muffled by Mycroft’s skin. His body began to shake with silent sobs, as he could no longer hold back the tears anymore. Mycroft pressed his nose into silvery hair, kissing the top of his head.

“Forgive me for not being here earlier, Gregory,” Mycroft whispered sincerely. “You needed me and I could not…”

“Shut up, you’re here now.”

Finally, Greg forced himself to pull away. Taking a deep breath, he rubbed at his eyes and gazed up at the man he loved so goddamn much. He cleared his throat, biting back a sob, and turned to his mother.

“Mum,” he started, his voice still wavering with emotion. “This is Mycroft. He’s my-“

“I believe I’m quite aware of who he is,” she smiled sweetly. “Thank you for coming, dear. It is wonderful to finally meet you.”

“My deepest sympathies that it was not under the more preferred circumstances we had attempted to plan,” Mycroft responded, stepping over and leaning in to kiss her cheek respectfully.

“Better poor circumstances than never,” she responded, reaching out and clasping his hand. “Now, why don’t you come back with us so we can have a proper chat, yes?”

She nodded at her son, smiling, before turning to walk away. Greg reached for Mycroft and got up on his toes so he could kiss him deeply. Mycroft gripped at his biceps, returning the kiss with equal intensity, and once again Greg had to force back tears.

“I’m so glad,” he said. “I needed you here.”

“I will remain by your side as long as you’ll have me, Gregory.”

“How about for always?”

They shared another intense kiss. Neither man moved to deepen the kiss more than it was, because it wasn’t the right time. But there was desperation there, a need that showed Greg’s emotional state. They remained there alone for a moment, before finally breaking away with soft gasps. They threaded their fingers together and walking through the cemetery to join back up with the rest of the family.


	32. Silence Is Golden

There was a short knock on the office door of the Diogenes Club before it opened, Anthea peeking her head in. Sitting at his desk, Mycroft stiffened and sucked in a breath, before staring at the door. The woman arched an eyebrow.

“Meeting in half an hour sir,” she said, before looking down at her Blackberry.

“Y-yes Anthea, thank you,” the politician said, voice shaking a bit before he cleared his throat.

“Alright sir?” she asked, glancing up for half a second. “You look a bit flush.”

“Just warm in here. I’m fine. Thank you, Anthea.”

The woman nodded, eyed him for a second more, and then shut the door. Mycroft was gripping his chair tightly, and exhaled in relief once he was alone again. Well, not quite alone… Glancing under the desk, he glared at the man crouching between his legs.

“Gregory, this is not the time,” he hissed, biting his lip and forcing back a whimper as the older man ignored him and leaned forward, running his tongue along his very stiff erection. The two of them hadn’t seen each other in a few days, and hadn’t had time for any intimate activity for even longer than that, and it had apparently caught up with the Detective Inspector. When Gregory had shown up at his office on his lunch break and all but climbed onto his lap, Mycroft knew there was no stopping it. But in the Diogenes, of all places.

“I suppose I could go…” Gregory teased, leaning back on his feet slightly, grinning. Mycroft’s glare hardened.

“Don’t you dare,” he scolded. “You’re going to finish what you’ve started now.”

Gregory leaned forward again, continuing his teasing blowjob, and Mycroft bit his lip as his head fell back against his chair. His back arched slightly, his breath picking up quicker. He could feel the heat pooling deep in his belly as his arousal grew. Right when he thought everything would hit, the warmth of his lover’s mouth was gone and he whimpered at the loss.

The older man put his hands on the chair and rolled it back so he could climb out from under the desk. He pulled Mycroft to his feet and shoved them together, their mouths clashing in a heated kiss full of want. The politician could feel Gregory’s erection though his trousers, and the friction the two of them created as they arched against one another. Mycroft growled into the kiss, and he got his bottom lip sucked on in return. Then, after breaking the kiss, Mycroft found himself being turned around and shoved down against his desk. His chest and hands pressed flat against the wood, shifting papers out of the way, and behind he could hear Gregory unfastening his trousers. 

Both men’s trousers and pants were tugged down to their ankles, and Gregory opened a drawer to Mycroft’s desk and rummaged around until he found the small bottle of lube they’d stored in here a while ago. Mycroft groaned at the pressure of his boyfriend’s fingers pressing into him, and shifted his hips back to meet them more eagerly than he cared to admit. The lack of sexual activity was catching up on him now, and good lord he wanted it.

Gregory’s fingers were replaced with something much more desired after a moment, and Mycroft sucked in a deep breath. His hand curled into a fist and flew to his mouth, forcing down a loud moan that threatened to come out. Of course he had to be in the middle of some of the best sex he’d had in a while in a building where silence was mandatory.

“Bite down on your tie, love,” Gregory grunted roughly, gripping Mycroft’s hips so tightly he wouldn’t be surprised if there were light bruises there later. The suggestion was the best thing he could think of right now, though, so after a second Mycroft’s silk tie was between his teeth.

“G-gregory…” he panted, his usually smooth voice shaking. As their hips rocked together, Gregory leaned down to start pressing hot kisses along his back and shoulders.

“Yes?” he asked against Mycroft’s heated skin.

“H-harder…” His request turned into a moan, all muffled by the tie that was stuffed in his mouth.

“Fuck yes,” came the breathless reply, and Gregory complied. The older man would receive a stern scolding for this later. But now… Mycroft didn’t want it to stop.


	33. Crap Telly

“Good lord Gregory, what are you watching?” Mycroft sighed, arching a thin eyebrow at the telly. Greg was reclined on the sofa, slumped over with his legs stretched out in front of him. He let his head fall back to glance at the politician, who had just made his way home, and shrugged with a casual grin.

“House Hunters,” he responded casually. “Nothing else on.”

Mycroft regarded the show, remaining quiet for a few moments as he watched the couple on the screen walking through a house and talking about what they liked about it, what they were looking for, so on and so fourth. House number 2, they called it. If it were possible, his eyebrow went up even higher.

“So you…watch a show…about people picking out dream houses?” he asked slowly, staring at his partner in disbelief. “How old are you, Gregory?”

“Oy. You hush. It’s great background noise. Come, sit.”

Greg patted the sofa cushion next to him invitingly, but the older man continued to stand and stare warily. It wasn’t until Greg glanced back at him with those large brown eyes that his boyfriend complied with his request, and he grinned triumphantly, curling their legs together, as Mycroft settled in next to him.

What Greg hadn’t realized at the time, unfortunately, was how this was going to change their viewing habits in the future. It was no big deal starting out. The two of them would cuddle up with each other on the sofa after dinner, talking softly, kissing, and putting something random on the telly as they did so. Every now and again they’d pay attention, depending what kind of programme was put on, and then after a while they would go to bed.

It wasn’t until Greg came home from a long day at the Yard, hearing Mycroft muttering and the telly on, that he realized just what had happened. Hanging up his coat, he slowly made his way to where the younger man was sitting on the couch, legs crossed, with irritation painted on his face. 

“Myc?” he started curiously, glancing from his lover to the telly and back.

“This is so irritating. This Candice woman clearly doesn’t understand the correct concept of that color scheme. I mean honestly. She claims to be a leading interior designer and then she puts out stuff like that? My left pinky could do better.” 

Greg blinked as Mycroft ranted, staring at the show and waving his hand around in its direction. The only way Greg was acknowledged was when he started directing questions at him and telling him to look at that awful layout.

“Are…you watching Divine Design?” he asked warily, glancing at the telly again. It wasn’t a show they’d ever watched, but it aired on the same channel as House Hunters and he recognized the logo on the bottom corner.

“I am, but it is clearly a poor decision because she is out of her mind and should be fired.”

Greg stared. Oh good lord. Mycroft was getting addicted to shitty television. What had he done? Shaking his head, he turned and headed to their shared bedroom, pulling out his mobile and texting his best mate as he walked.

Mycroft is watching awful telly on the Home and Garden Network. Currently Divine Design. And scolding the woman running it. Help. –Greg

He was down to his trousers when he got the return text, and he walked across the room to fetch his mobile and read it.

Keep him away from those crass tabloid talk shows. He’ll start screaming about how obvious it is the man is or isn’t the father. –JW

Greg shook his head, sighing. So it wasn’t just Mycroft…

What is it with the Holmes boys and crap American telly? -Greg

If you find out, mate, please tell me. –JW

Greg laughed. He and John had grown close over the years, and even more so with the two of them dating Mycroft and Sherlock. They were able to keep each other grounded and sane, for the most part. He finished changing into sweatpants and a baggy football kit jersey, and dared to make his way back to where Mycroft was still sitting.

“I should’ve watched Property Brothers,” Mycroft muttered as Greg sat down next to him.

“Oh? And why’s that?” Greg asked, deciding to humor him. For the first time since he’d gotten home, Mycroft turned to look at him.

“Because at least the twins are rather nice on the eyes.”

“Oy!” Greg fussed, puffing up. Mycroft smiled, tugging him close and wrapping his slender arms around his waist. Greg hummed as they started kissing, the telly becoming background noise. All was as it should be.

“No worries, darling. I’d rather have one of you than two of them any day,” Mycroft cooed against his lips, pulling him in for another deep kiss.


	34. Sleepy

Mycroft came home to an incredibly quiet house. It was peculiar and not at all what he had expected, because Gregory’s vehicle had been sitting in their garage as he’d arrived home. Quietly, he took off his coat and hung it and his umbrella up, as he did daily, and began to make his way through the house in search of his husband.

“Gregory?” he called out, to no response. He peeked into the kitchen with no luck, and made his way into the living room. Still no sign of the older man. Mycroft raised an eyebrow as he glanced around the room. Nothing on the sofa was disturbed after their cuddles the other evening, so he hadn’t even sat down. Normally Gregory relaxed in here with a football match or the news when he came home from work.

Sighing, Mycroft shook his head and turned back to head up to their bedroom. He glanced in the washroom as he passed, in case he’d been in the shower and he hadn’t picked up on the sound of running water (which he hadn’t, as expected). Their bedroom had been visited, he noted, as he bent down to pick up the tie that had been haphazardly dropped in the middle of the floor. So he had come home and changed out of his clothes, as he usually did. The duvet on their bed had shifted some, so he had clearly sat down for a little while. Yet, like the other rooms in the house he’d checked, he was not present here either.

“Gregory?” he called out again, and still no response. His brow furrowing, he tutted to himself and strode out of the bedroom again. Walking down the hall, he noticed a light on in the older man’s office. Ah. He smiled in satisfaction to himself as he’d finally located his partner, and made his way in. He opened his mouth to speak as he pushed open the door, but fell immediately silent at the sight before him.

Gregory was slumped over his desk, arms crossed and cheek resting on his hand. His lips were parted slightly, and he was very clearly fast asleep. There were papers scattered all across his desk, and a pen next to him that had obviously slipped out of his grip as sleep had overtaken him. Mycroft’s pale eyes softened and a small smile slid onto his face. His darling Gregory had been working himself to the bone over his current case; a serial killer that Sherlock had undoubtedly been very excited about, but one that was slipping out of their grasps more often than they preferred to admit.

Slowly, he made his way over to the sleeping man and leaned forward, placing his slender hands on Gregory’s shoulders and shaking gently. He leaned down, his breath ghosting against his husband’s ear as he spoke.

“Gregory, darling, do wake up,” he requested. The older man stirred after a moment, his brow furrowing in half-asleep confusion and blinked himself awake with a questioning groan. Mycroft chuckled and kissed the outside curve of his ear. “Come on love, to bed with you.”

“Myc?” the Detective Inspector asked groggily, turning to see him with sleepy eyes. Mycroft’s smile just widened.

“Yes, love. Come on now, to bed.”

Gregory rubbed at his eyes but complied, standing wobbly and allowing himself to be led through the hall by the younger man. Mycroft slid an arm around his waist as he guided him, until finally they reached their bed and both sat down.

“S’not late, is it?” Gregory asked sleepily, as he moved to curl up on his side with his head on the pillow.

“It is not.”

“What about dinner?”

“I assure you, I will take care of my own dinner tonight. You need rest, Gregory.” Mycroft stayed where he was, watching as his husband nodded and shut his eyes. After a moment, his breath began to even out again, in what he assumed was sleep. Adjusting the duvet, he moved to stand.

“Dun go,” came the rather pitiful request. Mycroft had been halfway standing, and he turned to look over his shoulder. Gregory had opened his eyes again, a sleepy pout stuck on his face, his arm extended across the empty side of the bed. “Please?”

He couldn’t resist. Mycroft nodded and toed his shoes off, pushing them aside and climbing into bed. He remained in more of a sitting position, of course, because he was nowhere near ready for bed himself. Gregory curled up against him, draping his arm around Mycroft’s waist and nuzzling his arm.

“Missed you,” he mumbled, voice slurring with the sleep that was already taking him back over.

“I missed you as well, Gregory,” Mycroft whispered back. His husband was already fast asleep.


	35. Wear Mine

“Bollocks, I’m going to be so late,” Greg groaned, darting back and fourth across the room and picking up articles of clothing that had been strewn all around the room. He was still half naked, John’s wedding was in less than an hour, and he couldn’t find his bloody tie. Mycroft apparently found him hilarious. The younger man was stretched out on his bed, still completely naked, with a smug smirk on his face, while the older ran in and out of the room like a chicken with his head cut off.

“You could just be late. The reception is usually more important than the ceremony anyway,” the politician called after him as he left the bedroom for the umpteenth time, buttoning up his dress shirt. Where was the damn tie?

“Or you could come with me,” Greg huffed for what wasn’t the first time in the past week. Mycroft refused to go, and he couldn’t understand why. His company would have been pleasant.

“Gregory, I am not. Everyone will be better off for it,” came the same reply every other time he’d mentioned it.

“I won’t,” he mumbled to himself. Mycroft arched an eyebrow. Greg sighed. “Have you seen my tie?”

Mycroft shook his head, and Greg’s shoulders slumped. Of course not. He supposed he could go without, but it just wouldn’t look right. Just as he was starting to convince himself to not worry about it, Mycroft finally climbed off the bed. With flawless grace, he strode over to his closet. Greg watched curiously.

“Here,” he prompted as he walked over, holding a dark blue tie with silver dots decorating it. The older man looked at him curiously. “Wear one of mine.”

Before Greg could reach out to take it, Mycroft was wrapping it around his neck and tying it with expert efficiency. Greg just gazed up at him, reaching out to place a hand on his bare hip. Once it was in place, they looked at each other, breathing together. Then, without warning, Mycroft grabbed the tie and pulled, jerking Greg forward into a heated kiss.

Every piece of clothing he’d thrown on in a rush was removed again just as quickly. Only the tie remained, for a while, as they fell on the bed together, kissing and writhing and groaning. The tie was eventually removed, and re-tied around Greg’s wrists. Not a way he’d thought to use it before, but as they had aggressive, mind-blowing sex, he changed his tune on the idea of it.

He gasped Mycroft’s name, but the words were lost in his mouth. They both cried out as they came, sweaty and panting and perfect.

And Greg was still definitely late for the wedding.

Sherlock called it to attention, of course, as he took one look at the tie and knew exactly where it came from.

“Oh good lord, you’re wearing his ties now?” he asked in a clipped voice. Greg blushed and gaped, freezing and holding up the receiving line on the way into the reception.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, glaring and trying to force down his embarrassment. Congratulate the newly weds, he told himself. Then get in there and have a bloody drink.

If Sherlock looked at him more than once while on the phone a little while later, Greg pretended not to notice.


	36. Withdrawls

It was their third interruption in the past two hours. Greg sat alone on the couch; movie paused, sighing as Mycroft paced back and fourth in the next room, on his mobile. Greg sighed, scrubbing his face in irritation. They both had tons invested in their jobs, and had known that long before getting into a relationship, but this was their first night of quality time in over a week, and he was on the bleeding phone.

Greg’s leg bounced up and down, until finally, twenty minutes later, Mycroft was walking back into the room. He had a thoughtful look on his face, the mask of the British government thoroughly in place. Greg stood, frowning, and went to go into the kitchen.

“I’m going to bed,” he said, voice short, as he carried empty tea mugs in to be rinsed. Mycroft arched an eyebrow and sighed, following.

“Gregory, the movie is still on,” he said, crossing his arms and watching his boyfriend from the doorway.

“Forget it. It’s a stupid bloody movie and you clearly have a lot of work to do.” Great, he was snapping. Now he was getting more irritated with himself than Mycroft.

“Dear lord, Gregory, I had to take the call. You know I would ignore it if I could.” Annoyance had settled into Mycroft’s voice as well. Greg could feel a row coming on, but he found he couldn’t stop himself.

“Yeah, but I haven’t seen you in- You know, forget it. I’m going to bed, so you can go run the fucking country.” He dropped the mug a little harder than he’d planned and stormed out in the direction of their bedroom.

“Stop being a child, Gregory,” Mycroft snapped. Greg froze, halfway up the stairs. Finally, he turned to face the younger man, who was glaring at him in annoyance.

“Seriously?” he yelled. Shaking his head, he stormed up the steps, went into the washroom, and slammed the door shut behind him. Glaring at everything in there, because suddenly everything was offending him, Greg turned the shower on and started to tug off his clothes. He threw them in a pile and leaned on the sink, glancing at himself in a mirror. Absently, he grabbed his toothbrush and started chewing on the bottom of it. Only upon noticing this did he yank it out and slam it down, groaning to himself, and turned to get into the shower.

He was so focused on the hot water beating down on his head that he didn’t notice the door to the washroom opening. Tilting his head up, he let the water splash onto his face, eyes shut tight. Then, there were slender arms wrapping around his waist, causing him to jump. Turning, he glanced at the very naked body of his boyfriend, who had apparently snuck in and decided to join him in the shower. 

“I’m sorry,” Greg sighed, breaking the silence after a moment. Mycroft was resting his chin on his tan shoulder, and turned to press a kiss to his cheek.

“I am as well,” Mycroft murmured, brushing his pointed nose along Greg’s damp skin. “I do believe we picked a poor time to try and stop smoking together.”

Greg couldn’t help but chuckle. Maybe it had been a bad idea that they tried to stop smoking at the same time to begin with. They were both going through withdrawals, making their emotions very high. They rarely snapped at each other. It was most definitely the lack of nicotine in both their systems.

“Why did we decide to do this again?” he asked, raising his eyebrows curiously. He turned in Mycroft’s arms so that they were facing one another, their chests pressed against each other. Greg gazed up at his partner with affection.

“Because it’s for our health,” came Mycroft’s response, repeating the words Greg had said a few weeks ago. Glaring, Greg reached out to smack him with no force.

“Stop mocking me,” he sighed. Mycroft shook his head and leaned down to kiss Greg gently. The kiss started slow, and picked up after a moment. They both hummed, gripping at each other’s slick skin.

“Let us focus on much more pleasurable things, yes?” Mycroft whispered against Greg’s lips. Greg managed to nod, nipping at the younger man’s bottom lip gently.

“Sounds good to me, Myc.” And they proceeded to have a wonderful shower, followed by an even more wonderful evening in bed.


	37. A Flirtatious Swim

It was sunny and warm and wonderful out; a perfect setting for the day. Greg was enjoying his and Mycroft’s time in Milan. He’d never been to Milan. What better way to experience it than on one’s honeymoon?

Currently, they were stretched out on a boat, rocking lazily in the water. Mycroft was leaning with one arm propped on the edge, a book in his lap and his umbrella open and propped up behind him. His poor partner – not just partner, husband now – burned so easily in the sun that he couldn’t go with out. His chest and feet were bare, but he still wore a nice pair of black trousers. Greg, on the other hand, was wearing nothing more than swim trunks and a pair of sunglasses. He sighed, grinning widely, and glanced over at the other man.

“Whatcha reading?” he asked lightheartedly, craning his neck to peer over at the younger man.

“Mmm?” Mycroft glanced up over the pages of his book. “Oh, it’s an old Italian piece of literature; fables and the like. It was sitting in our suite.”

“I bet I could give you something a lot more interesting to think about…” the older man said, leaning forward a bit. He had long since stopped wondering how Mycroft could do certain things, like reading fluent Italian. His husband was just a genius, and it was glorious..

“Is that so?” Mycroft asked, bookmarking his spot and shutting the book. 

“Oh yeah. These lips,” he nodded, pointing at his mouth. Mycroft arched an eyebrow.

“Yours lips, Gregory?” he asked, smirking.

“Naturally. I can kiss you so well you’ll forget all about those Italian fables. About everything.”

“How confident you are. Perhaps you should prove it to me,” Mycroft said silkily, sitting up a bit straighter. He gazed at his husband with a challenging, sassy expression. Standing, Greg took the few careful steps over, closing the space between them on the boat. He was never one to back down from a challenge, especially when it involved anything intimate with Mycroft. He gazed down at the younger man, before bending at the waist and leaning down.

Mycroft tilted his head as if to meet the man’s lips, practically batting his eyes at him, but the smirk he had previously worn grew even wider and he leaned to the side. Greg continued moving. His brown eyes flew open in surprise as he lost balance, yelping, and the next thing he knew he was in the water. Kicking his feet, he resurfaced and spun around to face the boat. Mycroft, still in the boat, was laughing, moving to lean back in his original position. Greg spit water out of his mouth and pouted a bit.

“Not cool, Myc,” he said, reaching to grasp the edge of the boat a bit. Mycroft gazed down at him; pale eyes alight with amusement and love.

“Oh poor darling,” the younger man cooed, with no sincerity at all. Greg poked his tongue out at him. He wasn’t the least bit sorry, that was for sure.

“I am. I must be spoiled now. I could’ve drowned,” Greg pretended to wail dramatically, throwing his head back and looking up at the sky. Mycroft shook his head and rolled his eyes at the older man’s hysterics. Leaning forward slightly, he reached out with a slender hand and cupped Greg’s cheek, stroking his wet, sun-kissed skin with his thumb.

“Oh husband mine,” Mycroft said with much more care now. He smirked again. “Why don’t you show me now?”

Mycroft leaned forward a bit more, and Greg pulled himself up a bit. Their lips connected in a gentle, meaningful kiss. Mycroft slid his fingers through Greg’s damp, silvery hair, tilting his head to deepen the kiss a bit. Reaching out with his other hand, Greg cupped the back of the younger man’s neck to hold him in place. The kiss slowed, and Greg’s lips curled into a grin against his husband’s. Mycroft could sense something had changed, and an alarm went off in his head. Before he could react, though, Greg tugged, grinning brightly as they pulled away from each other.

There was another loud yelp, followed by a splash, as Mycroft Holmes was tugged out of the boat and into the water as well. Payback was glorious, no matter what consequences were sure to follow.


	38. Ice Cream

It was an unusually hot day in London. It was uncomfortable enough that Greg was wearing a tanktop, and even Mycroft wasn’t dressed in his normal three-piece suits. He was still dressed much more properly than the majority of the other people they’d seen throughout the day, clad in black trousers and a button up dress shirt. Though, as they’d gone out, he had since rolled the sleeves of the shirt up to his elbows.

Currently, they were in a small pastry shoppe near their house, sitting at one of the smaller tables over in the corner. It was usually a lot less busy than it was today, though, along with pastries, they also sold ice cream, so he supposed it made sense. It was the reason they were here as well. They’d had to run a couple of errands and get some shopping done, so he had suggested swinging by as they made their way back. Mycroft had agreed fairly easily.

Greg had decided to go with a milkshake, while his partner had chosen the traditional ice cream cone. They sat in general, comfortable silence, though partially because Greg was a bit too distracted for much conversation.

The way Mycroft was eating that cone was utterly sinful. Watching his tongue slipping out and sliding along the curve of the ice cream was sending an all too familiar heat through the older man’s gut. It was slow, moving from one side to the other, before retreating back into his mouth. Occasionally, some of the treat would get on his lips, requiring his tongue to slip back out and run along his lips to clean it up. Greg shivered.

“Gregory, did you hear me?” Mycroft asked, arching an eyebrow curiously. Greg blinked and forced his eyes up to meet his partner’s.

“Huh?” he said, a bit stupidly. He could feel a blush creeping into his cheeks slowly.

“I was asking when dear Elizabeth was going to come stay with us again?” Mycroft repeated, looking amused.

“Ah, yes,” Greg nodded, clearing his throat. His daughter was young enough to still deal with custody switching visits between himself and his ex-wife. “Probably next weekend.”

Brown eyes slid back to the younger man’s mouth as he ate more of his ice cream cone. Where it had started to melt, some of the residue melted onto his fingers. Mycroft switched hands and proceeded to lick it off. Greg groaned.

“Gregory?” he asked, raising both eyebrows now.

“You are driving me crazy, Myc,” he sighed, trying to focus on his milkshake and not his growing erection. Mycroft started smirking.

“Is that so?” he asked silkily. Turning back to his ice cream, he consumed it again, even more slowly than before. Okay, now he was being deliberate. It was cruel. Reaching out over the table, Greg grabbed the hand in question and tugged it over. Brown eyes darkened in color as his pupils widened, letting his own tongue dart out to lick vanilla-flavored ice cream off him. Pale eyes widened across the table, his mouth parting a bit. It was Greg’s turn to smirk, taking the entire digit into his mouth and sucking on it gently. As his tongue moved to drag across the pad of his finger, a soft noise escaped Mycroft.

“Let’s go home,” Greg whispered huskily, releasing his partner’s hand and sitting back. Mycroft cleared his throat and nodded curtly.

“Yes. Let’s.”


	39. Interrupted Date

“Where are you going?” Greg groaned as Sherlock was attempting to scamper off from him. It was very unlike the consulting detective to stop mid-deduction and get distracted like he just had.

“I just need to…talk about…rent,” he was saying, clearly an excuse to get out of the conversation. Greg wasn’t quite so stupid.

“I’ve still got questions for you,” he started to complain, following Sherlock as he tried to walk away.

“Oh what now? I-I’m in shock, look. I’ve got a blanket.” The young man held up a corner of the insanely orange blanket for emphasis.

“Sherlock!!” Greg groaned, crossing his arms and getting more fed up by the minute. What was supposed to be a great night had turned to shit pretty fast and the damn detective was not helping his mood in the least.

“AND. I just caught you a serial killer,” Sherlock continued to protest. He paused briefly, glancing to the side. “More or less.”

Greg was silent for a moment, tilting his chin up as he regarded Sherlock. He was keeping something from him, that much was obvious. He’d been around the detective long enough to know when he was skirting around an issue. He regarded him, taking in the fact that his stance was 100%, before finally nodding.

“Okay. We’ll pull you in tomorrow; off you go,” he sighed in defeat. After years of working with Sherlock, he knew when to pick his battles, after all. He watched him duck under the police tape and wander over to that John Watson that had apparently been brave enough to become his flatmate, and sighed as an officer came over to him and started informing him of the situation.

He only half listened to what was going on, responding as he needed to. This was not the way he’d wanted to spend his night. He had plans. He was supposed to have gone on his first date with Mycroft Holmes tonight. They’d had it set up for over a week now. Finally, a night and a dinner where Sherlock was not the topic of conversation, or the reason for them meeting. It was supposed to be a night of their own, getting to know each other, seeing if the attraction they carried for one another might end up going to something more. A wonderful date, which got interrupted by Sherlock… Like most things in Greg’s life, it seemed.

He got deep into conversation with Sally Donovan, trying not to sulk too obviously, when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Turning his head, he practically gaped at the sight on the other side of the taped off scene. Sherlock and John Watson had been stopped by an all too familiar black car, and… Mycroft. His breath got caught in his throat, and he stopped bothering to pay attention to whatever his Sergeant was saying. He raised a hand and grasped her bicep gently, finally turning back to her.

“I’ll be back, yeah? Take care of some of this cleanup.”

He jogged away before Sally could raise any concerns or protests, ducking under the tape and making his way across the pavement. He picked up the pace, trying to get closer before the politician ducked back into his car.

“Mycroft!” he finally called out, causing the man to stop in his tracks and turn to face him. Greg broke out into a grin, finally catching up, and he slowed to stand in front of him.

“Good evening Detective Inspector,” he was greeted as professionally as ever.

“Greg, please. Didn’t expect to see you here. I’m…sorry about having to cancel. Sherlock…”

“It is quite alright. I am aware of the challenges my dear brother can cause to anyone close enough to him.”

Greg ran a hand through his hair, shifting his weight.

“You came to check on him?” he asked, raising his eyebrows curiously. He assumed so, though he secretly hoped he showed up with a drive of theirs as well. Mycroft hummed, smiling softly.

“Of course. John Watson is a curious individual, staying so close to him,” the taller man said, moving his umbrella from one hand to the other.

“Would you be opposed to getting some coffee?” Greg finally asked, working up the courage after a few silent moments. It was too late for the dinner they’d planned, but if they could still spend some time together, he could classify that as a victory.

“Yes, I do believe that is a good idea,” Mycroft agreed with a nod, smiling a bit more…genuinely, if Greg could put a word to it. He motioned at the open door to the black car next to him. “After you, Gregory.”


	40. Kidnapping

When Mycroft woke, all he knew was pain. His brow furrowed, but he refrained from grunting as he started to come to. Everything that had occurred came back to him tremendously fast. While he’d been aware of the hazards of his job, even though he hardly did fieldwork, no amount of training can truly prepare an individual for the moment they are kidnapped and held hostage. However, he knew to remain calm, and he excelled at doing so, no matter the situation.

He was not blindfolded, which surprised him slightly. Either his kidnappers weren’t very bright, or they were confident enough that he would not survive to the endgame. One option was a bit more comforting than the other. Taking in a deep breath through his nose, he glanced around the room with assessing eyes. There were two more men tied to chairs as he was, suits crumpled and bloodied. They both still seemed to be unconscious. A look down confirmed that he was crumpled as well, but he didn’t find blood. Interesting.

A hefty man stormed in, carrying a large knife in his hand. He noticed Mycroft was awake and strode over, speaking to him angrily in Russian. Mycroft watched him, understanding every word of course, but said nothing. Even as the man started waving the knife and demanding intel, threatening his life, Mycroft did not speak.

He made no noise until the blade was drug across his skin, causing him to cry out at the hot pain.

His interrogation/torture went on for what felt like hours. He kept everything in until the pain became too much to bear, and only then did he cry out again. As the man finally stepped back, Mycroft was panting, covered in his own blood, sweat, and tears. His head was swimming, and it was a bit more difficult to concentrate. He wasn’t able to accurately assess the damage, though he had clearly already started to lose a lot of blood.

Hours turned into what he assumed were days. He would continuously be interrogated, and then tortured when he did not confess any of their desired information. They really were amateurs if they thought he would give up valuable information so easily. Unfortunately, he could not see a way out. He began to doubt a better outcome, thinking that the only way he’d be getting out of here was in a body bag. However, he refused to let himself dwell on such thoughts for too long. No matter what, no matter how bad things got or how much pain he was in, one thought cut through everything else like a hot knife through butter.

Gregory would save him.

His beloved partner was intelligent, and the best Detective Inspector that New Scotland Yard could hope to have. While he always got pushed aside by the ridiculous light his dear little brother gave off, Gregory was not someone to be shrugged at. No one would work harder or longer or better to find this location than he would. Even if they had not been romantically and intimately involved for almost two years now, it would be no different. Luckily, the only change to be had was that if anything, Gregory would work even harder and faster to get him back home and in his comforting arms.

One day, an undetermined amount of time later, consciousness was getting more and more difficult to maintain. The blood loss was significant, and even if he didn’t die at the hands of his kidnappers, he surely would because of that. Every inch of him ached, and what no longer ached he couldn’t feel at all. Even though he still continued to remind himself that Gregory was coming for him, a piece of him was starting to accept that fact that he was most likely going to die here. All the facts were lining up, and he supposed it was inevitable.

Just as those thoughts were creeping in, he heard a strange commotion from up above. His brow furrowed in confusion. There was a crash, and some yelling. What was…

The door to the room burst open. Mycroft jumped, on instinct. He tried to force his eyes open, but his vision was really blurry as he looked around. Someone was coming into the room. Thinner than his kidnapper. Coming to him. Touching his face. Talking? He attempted to concentrate even more, and finally things began to register.

“G-gregory…” he rasped weakly, trying to reach out. He could barely move, but he wanted to touch his lover so bad.

“I’ve got you Myc,” he heard that gruff voice saying. “I’m getting you out of here. Taking you home. It’s all okay now.”

He knew this. He didn’t need to hear those words to know he was okay. Gregory was here. Yet, hearing the words still made him feel a bit better. His partner was untying his restraints and pulling him into his arms. Mycroft turned into him, burying his face in his familiar, tanned neck. Smelled so good… He sighed, telling himself he’d apologize later for getting blood all over him.

He found himself not able to maintain consciousness any longer. He was exhausted. But it was okay. Gregory had found him. He was going to be okay.


	41. Happy Birthday

Greg was nervous. This was the first birthday of Mycroft’s that the two of them had been involved with each other, and he had wanted to do something for him. Granted, Mycroft didn’t seem one to care for the event. Apparently that ran in the family, which made him wonder if they ever celebrated birthdays. That, or they were over celebrated and the two intelligent Holmes boys couldn’t stand it. He had yet to find out which.

He didn’t have a big production in mind for this very reason, but he had still wanted to do something for him. He loved him, after all, and this was one of the ways to show this every year. So he stood at Mycroft’s flat, a small box in his hand, shifting and taking deep breaths.

He wasn’t sure what he was nervous about. Of course Mycroft would enjoy whatever he had planned. He always did, no matter how unorthodox it was for the younger man. It was one of the ways he loved him back. So finally, huffing softly, he raised a hand to knock on the door just as it opened.

“Ah, Gregory,” his partner smiled, pretending to be pleasantly surprised to see him. Greg couldn’t help but grin. Mycroft probably knew he was there the whole time, and how long he’d been out. So, nodding, he held the box out in front of him. Mycroft’s eyebrows raised in more genuine surprise this time, staring at the box as if he didn’t know what to do with it.

“Well? You gonna take it?” he asked, laughing softly. He jostled the box for emphasis. “It is for you, you know.”

Mycroft’s mouth parted in an ‘oh’ and he nodded, reaching out to finally take it. He took a step back, gesturing for Greg to enter, and together they walked into the living room and settled down on the sofa. Greg curled his legs under him, turning towards the younger man, and waiting patiently for him to open it.

“Should I wait?” Mycroft asked somewhat hesitantly. Greg shook his head.

“Nah, go ahead!” he urged, waving his hand.

Nodding, Mycroft went about opening the box, a curious fascination on his face. The first thing he pulled out was a tube of lube, to which he gave Greg an exasperated glance. Greg laughed; poking his tongue out and muttering that they were almost out, but never mind that and keep going. The next thing he pulled out of the box was another box, small and slender. Upon opening it, there was a sleek fountain pen. Mycroft’s eyes widened.

“Gregory…” he muttered, uncapping it to look at the tip. “This is lovely. It’s the exact brand I prefer. How did you-?”

“Hey. A boyfriend’s supposed to know these things,” Greg smiled.

There were a few other things in the box: a silver tie clip, some nice polish for the handle of his umbrella, and an ID that Sherlock had somehow stolen from him a while back. Mycroft burst out laughing at that last one, which made Gregory light up excitedly. Reaching over, the younger man cupped his partner’s cheek and pulled him close to kiss him sweetly.

“Thank you,” he spoke against Greg’s lips. Greg hummed. “It’s all so lovely. And surprisingly practical.”

“Did you expect me to get you something ridiculous that you’d put somewhere and never look at again?” he asked in amusement. Mycroft smirked.

“No, I suppose not.” He leaned in and initiated another kiss. “Really, Gregory, thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, darling,” Greg smiled, running a hand through his hair affectionately. He brushed the tips of their noses together before pulling back and patting his knee. “Now. Dinner. And then after, some rather amazing birthday sex.”

“Oh my, that all sounds wonderful,” Mycroft said, smirk widening. They stood, threading their fingers together and departing the flat to head on to dinner.


	42. Phone Sex

Come to mine tonight. It’s been to long, much to both our desires.

Those words kept echoing in Greg’s head. How was he supposed to concentrate on his work when Mycroft had given him THAT kind of invitation? He groaned, leg bouncing up and down almost consistently, staring at the paperwork in front of him without reading anything written on it.

Mycroft had been out of the country for almost an entire month, and it had basically driving the DI insane. It was the longest the two of them had been apart since they had started officially dating. He’d missed him horribly, and while they talked on the phone at least every other night, it wasn’t the same. So tonight he was going over for dinner, and he knew he would be sleeping over. Honestly, dinner was the last thing he cared about. He sat there, chewing on the tip of his pen, trying to ignoring the erection he was sporting as he kept thinking about what all they would do later tonight. 

He… couldn’t wait until later tonight. Unfortunately, there was no way he’d be able to get out of the office and pay his lover a visit. Sally had come down with a nasty virus and had been unable to come in, so he’d gotten buried under her duties as well as his own. He was swamped, and he would be stuck here at his desk until he could finally leave later that evening. Huffing, he stood, and walked to shut the blinds and lock the door to his office, getting an idea. As he sat back down, he reached for his mobile and fired off a text.

/What are you wearing right now?/

He leaned back in his chair, knees falling open as he waited for a reply. His free hand rested on his stomach, fiddling absently with the button of his trousers.

/A suit, Gregory. Why? -MH/

/I can’t wait until tonight. I need you. Call me?/

/I’m in a meeting. –MH/

Greg huffed, and being shameless as he was, snapped a picture of his clothed crotch and his obvious hard-on.

/This is your fault, you know. Help me take care of it. Please./

He smirked triumphantly as, after a moment, his phone began to ring with his partner’s name on the caller ID. He lifted the phone up to his ear while popping open the trouser button.

“Glad you called,” he whispered deeply. There was a small inhale come from the other line before he spoke.

“Goodness, Gregory,” Mycroft said in his normal, silky voice. “Seems you’ve got quite the problem on your hands.”

“Mmmm, I do. Help me?” he begged.

“Are you requesting phone sex, darling?” came the return question, though Mycroft had lowered his voice in that dangerous, sexy way that proved he intended to help after all.

“Yes,” Greg sighed. “I’m lowering my zipper.”

“Touch yourself,” Mycroft commanded, and Greg eagerly complied. He sighed as he wrapped his hand around himself and began moving in small, slow strokes. He let his head fall back against his chair with a soft thud, being greatly encouraged by the smooth words being spoken to him on the other side of the line.

Mycroft began describing very inappropriate things, which heightened the heated arousal that was pooling deep in his gut. He began panting softly, stroking and teasing himself and picturing how his hand would be replaced with his partner’s later in the evening. 

“You’re close,” Mycroft purred after a few minutes. Greg’s breath hitched, his pace stuttering slightly before he tried to regain control.

“Yes,” he breathed, biting his lip.

“Come for me, Gregory.”

Greg’s eyes shot open wide, and he released his phone to cradle on his shoulder. Reaching out, he hurriedly grabbed at the small stack of napkins that he had brought with him from the coffee shoppe that morning, knocking over his empty mug and some papers falling to the floor. Hearing Mycroft speak those words sent him over the edge, and he just barely pulled the napkins close as his release crashed through him. He groaned softly, twitching and panting harshly, swallowing as he came down from his orgasm. Glancing down, he saw proudly that none of his mess got on his suit, so no one would know the wiser.

“Mmmmm, Myc,” he sighed, his muscles relaxing. Mycroft chuckled softly.

“See you tonight, Gregory.”

There was a click before either of them could attempt a proper goodbye, but Greg couldn’t be bothered by it. He dropped his mobile on his desk, closing his eyes again and slumping down in his chair with the biggest grin on his face.

“Can’t wait,” he muttered to himself, already feeling tons better.


	43. Mycroft Appalled Him

It wasn’t until after Mycroft had stormed out of 221B in a huff and gotten into his car that he’d noticed the pain. He hissed through his teeth and furrowed his brow, glancing down at his aching arm with a sigh. If the feeling and the lack of movement had him deducing correctly… It seemed that his dear, extremely high brother, had just broken his arm.

Fantastic.

Daily life was exceedingly difficult when one’s arm was in a cast and sling. Mycroft had been stubborn at first, refusing assistance from anyone who offered or started to get that pitying look on their face as he tried to continue working normally. The icy stare the received in return usually made them look the other way, and he attempted to keep going about his daily routine. 

It was difficult. He was getting things done a lot slower not having full use of both arms. However, he was Mycroft Holmes, and still managed to achieve all the correct tasks on any given day. Even if he slept less because he needed the extra time. Even if his broken arm continued to throb tremendously as he pushed the boundaries of what all it could do.

“Christ Myc, stop,” his partner, Gregory, sighed one morning as Mycroft was going through the motions of getting dressed. It was the worst start to the day, that was for sure. Getting on his waistcoat and ties were by far one of the most difficult things he could have imagined. He blinked in surprise, freezing with his waistcoat in his good hand, and glanced over to the older man, who was still lying in bed.

“Apologies Gregory. Go back to sleep.” His grunts must have woken him up… Mycroft frowned at himself over it. Gregory shook his head, sliding out of bed and walking over to where he was standing (quite naked, as he decidedly never slept in pajamas like the politician did).

“No. I’m helping you, and you will bloody accept it,” he challenged, his deep voice rough with sleep. His brown eyes were very attentive as he took his waistcoat and moved around his body, gently nudging his arms as he put it on. Then, he picked up his tie and wrapped it around his neck, stepping close as his tan hands worked on tying it properly.

“You shouldn’t have to…” Mycroft huffed softly, lips pursed together as he stood by helplessly. He couldn’t even dress himself normally, and it was ridiculous. Gregory just shook his head again, before kissing him and patting his chest once he was clothed.

“Myc, darling. How good of a boyfriend would I be if I let you keep struggling?” he asked, gazing up into his eyes with a soft smile. “Besides, if you keep straining it like this, it’ll take longer to heal. Please. Let me help you, okay?”

Mycroft hadn’t want to, of course. He’d never needed help, even when he was a young boy. However, he’d seen the point about his arm refusing to heal, so he reluctantly agreed. Naturally, he had continued about his work as best as possible, but when he got home, his boyfriend had taken away all responsibility from him. The older man basically shooed him into the living room and onto the sofa, which had made Mycroft a bit disgruntled for a while. 

“Honestly, Gregory. I have one broken arm, I’m not an invalid,” he snapped one evening. He wasn’t so much irritated with his boyfriend as he was with his situation, and how long it was taking for the cast to be able to get taken off. He tried glaring when tea was brought to him, but took it anyway.

“Mycroft,” Gregory said softly, gazing down at him with those lovely brown eyes. Mycroft blinked. “I realize this, but it gives me a chance to dote on you. Something I’m not able to do often. I know how much it hurts – I’ve had enough broken arms in my life to know – and I just want to make you comfortable, okay?”

Mycroft blinked, frowning down at his tea. He sighed softly and nodded. He supposed he could see his boyfriend’s stance on that. It was much the same kind of mentality when he was sick and Mycroft insisted on taking care of him.

“Forgive me. I’m just exhausted dealing with it,” he admitted, sipping the hot liquid. Smiling, his darling Gregory sat down on the sofa next to him and pulled them into a very comfortable cuddle. Mycroft sighed, his muscles relaxing as his body sank back into his other half’s. Gregory began pressing soft kisses to the top of his head.

“I know, love,” he whispered, laying his cheek on the top of Mycroft’s head. The politician closed his eyes and sighed again. “It’s okay. Just drink your tea, okay? Then I’ll finish up your laundry and draw you a bath, how’s that sound?”

Mycroft sighed.

“It’s sounds lovely, Gregory. Thank you.”


	44. Don't Be Embarrassed

Mycroft always slept in pajamas. It wasn’t an unusual thing, sure; Greg knew plenty of people that slept in pajamas. He just wasn’t one of them. At the most he would sleep in his pants, though he slept nude quite frequently. He was just comfortable that way. So living with a partner who was by far quite the opposite had been an interesting adjustment.

When Mycroft changed from one set of clothing to another, he never did it in front of Greg. He always either went to the washroom connected to their bedroom, or stepped behind a Japanese dressing screen he had in the corner. Mycroft Holmes was a man of his habits, of course, so he hadn’t said anything at first. But the two of them were sexually intimate, so it wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen the younger man naked. Even after their sexual acts, Mycroft hardly stuck around for cuddling before stepping into the washroom and then getting dressed.

Finally, one night as he was sprawled out on the bed in post-coital bliss, he couldn’t resist from bringing it up. He watched lazily as Mycroft climbed out of bed and began making his way to the toilet.

“Why don’t you ever stay?” he called after him softly, causing the politician to hesitate and glance over his shoulder. Greg wasn’t hurt, of course. Nothing about it offended him or made him think that there was an issue between the two of them. He was just genuinely confused.

“I… Apologies, Gregory. I hope that you are not insulted, because that is not my intention,” Mycroft said, instead of answering the question. He turned back towards the bed a bit and held his clothes closer to his body. 

“Don’t apologize, Myc,” he smiled, pushing himself up on his shoulders and shaking his head. “I’m just curious.”

“I am unused to being nude for longer than is necessary.”

There was a hesitance in him, something that made Greg want to uncover whatever it is. He’d never really seen Mycroft feel uncomfortable about something, and yet he was in this moment. Greg reached his hand out.

“Come here,” he requested affectionately. Pale eyes shifted down to the offered hand, but Mycroft didn’t move. Greg wiggled his fingers. “Please?”

It took a second, but Mycroft finally agreed and made his way back over to the bed. He got on it and sat down, setting his clothes on the floor next to him. Grinning, Greg reached up to pull him back down and wrap his arms around him. He kissed the younger man’s forehead softly and breathed deeply.

“After-sex cuddles are some of the best cuddles,” he mumbled against Mycroft’s skin. “You should try it sometime.”

“Should I?” Mycroft asked, his voice light in mock question, and Greg didn’t need to see it to know he was smirking. His body was less tense, however, so he called it a victory. Moving his head to the side, he ran a hand slowly down his partner’s long back and kissed his pale shoulder. He sighed softly, before his brown eyes were drawn to something he hadn’t really noticed before. Mycroft’s shoulders, neck, and back were covered in freckles. He stared, blinking, utterly fascinated.

“How…how have I never noticed these before?” he whispered, bringing his hand back up to trace along the large array of spots going across his skin. Mycroft instantly went rigid against him and attempted to pull away. Greg’s brow furrowed. “Myc?”

He tried looking at his lover’s face, but Mycroft seemed to be avoiding that at all costs. Why was the most confident man in all of England avoiding his gaze? He shifted, putting his hand gently under his chin and lifting so they were looking at each other. Mycroft’s cheeks were flush. Was he embarrassed?

“Myc, what is it? They’re just freckles, love. I’ve even got a few.”

“That’s just it, Gregory. You have a few. Mine are ridiculous.” In a huff, Mycroft pushed himself to sit back up and face away from Greg. The older man just stared at his back, admiring the freckles in question again, and at Mycroft’s hunched up shoulders. It was truly baffling how he could be so insecure about his body image. Greg had never known a sexier man in his entire life. So, shifting, he sat up as well and wrapped his arms around Mycroft, propping his chin up on his shoulder.

“They are certainly not ridiculous,” he countered. “They’re wonderful. And they’re you, Mycroft. I love them.”

Mycroft scoffed, rolling his eyes. Smiling, Greg began pressing soft kisses along his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Mycroft asked softly.

“Kissing your freckles, of course,” he said, the ‘duh’ a silent implication. “I told you I loved them. And I want to spend the rest of our lives kissing them, so I’m starting now. Don’t be embarrassed, Myc. There’s no need.”

Slowly, Mycroft began to relax again. The kisses helped. Then, finally, he asked a question that made Greg’s heart sing.

“Would you…like to accompany me in the shower, Gregory?”

They had never showered together. Greg had been fantasizing about it for ages.

“God yes,” he breathed, eagerly getting out of bed and following the younger man into the washroom.


	45. Valentine's Day

When Greg Lestrade did something, he never did it halfway. It was part of his charm, or so he told himself. Though, it had continuously gotten good results over the years, so why change now? He thought about that as he went through his mental checklist, wandering about Mycroft’s kitchen with purpose.

It was their first Valentine’s Day together. He wanted it to be special. His partner, of course, had said nothing about the day, and Greg hadn’t really planned on him to. He had the sneaking suspicion every other Valentine’s Day that had occurred in the lifetime of Mycroft Holmes had been just another day. This was why Greg wanted it to be special. While he didn’t necessarily buy into all the mass consumerist view of the holiday, he still felt it was a good day to make your other half feel really fucking loved.

Mycroft would be home from the office soon, and if Greg timed it correctly, dinner would be just about finishing up when he walked in the door. He hoped. So as food cooked, he set out the flower arrangement he’d gotten, thumbed through potential music options, set out candles in the dining room and bedroom, and got out the bath supplies he’d picked up earlier in the week. Most of it was a bit cliché, he supposed, but he didn’t care.

Just as he’d planned, he heard Mycroft’s front door open as the timer counted down from ten minutes. Grinning, he pulled off the apron he’d been wearing (mainly to keep his nice clothes from getting messed up with food), and went to greet him at the door.

“Welcome home, Myc,” he grinned, holding his hands out and snaking them around the younger man’s waist, pulling him close for a slow kiss. He could practically feel Mycroft’s eyebrows rise in surprise, even as he kissed back, his arms going around Greg’s shoulders.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company right as I got home?” Mycroft asked after they pulled away, smiling. Then, his head tilted slightly and he sniffed. “Are you cooking?”

“I am,” Greg confirmed with a nod, leaning in and kissing him again. “I’m spoiling you tonight. Come on.”

Threading their fingers together, they walked into the dining room, where Mycroft’s eyes immediately went to the flowers on the middle of the table.

“What is…” he started, trailing off as he glanced at them. “What is all this?”

“Valentine’s Day, love,” Greg smiled. “Hence, spoiling. Now sit. Dinner’s almost done.”

He kissed Mycroft on the forehead as the man sat, and went to get their food onto plates. They sat in comfortable silence for the majority of their meal, sharing a lovely glass of wine and eating their fill, as well as dessert (to which Mycroft had started to protest, but Greg was very convincing, and the satisfying noises the politician made while eating it were just sinful).

After dinner, there was some cuddling on the sofa, which turned into lazy snogging. Greg didn’t let them stay there too long, though, because he wasn’t quite done. So he finally pulled away, heading to the washroom to draw up a bath. With bubbles. And candles. And more wine. As he led Mycroft in, the younger man glanced at everything and couldn’t help but sigh.

“Honestly, darling, you didn’t need to…” he started to protest, though he was smiling. Greg grinned while unbuttoning his dress shirt, placing kisses to his pale chest as it was revealed.

“Spoiling. Get in.”

After both undressing, the men climbed into the bath together, Greg sitting behind and Mycroft leaning against him with a happy sigh. There was more cuddling, more snogging, and some more intense foreplay (because really, it was difficult not to when they bathed together). They actually played in the bubbles, making shapes on each other’s faces and shoulders and laughing at each other gleefully. It was almost hard to believe both men were in their forties. Greg also couldn’t help but stop and gaze when Mycroft was laughing at him, because to see him laughing so wonderfully and genuine was breathtaking. The way his face lit up, the way the bridge of his long nose and the corners of his piercing eyes crinkled with laughter lines… Gorgeous. And Greg was lucky enough to be able to witness it.

To say they made love that night was a vast understatement. Greg worshipped every inch of Mycroft’s body. Sure, the man stared at him blankly over more candles and rose petals on the bed (so sue him, he was going all out for Christ sakes), but he could tell that Mycroft secretly enjoyed every second of it. They made love, and it was slow, and it was glorious, and together they peaked and collapsed on the bed, panting harshly and gripping one another like their lives depended on it.

Greg was in love. Not like he didn’t know before, but as they continued to lie there, holding one another and kissing sweetly, whispering nothing important to each other, and laughing some more, Greg knew. He was going to spend the rest of his life with this man. He just knew.

“Happy first Valentine’s Day,” he whispered as sleep was starting to creep him. Mycroft hummed sweetly, turning his head to brush the tips of their vastly different noses.

“The first of many,” he said in return, leaning in to kiss Gregory as he fell asleep in his arms.


	46. Come To Dinner

Mycroft Holmes’ interests laid with his little brother. They always had, and they always would. He cared about him deeply, after all. Even in their later years, with a relationship as strained as theirs was now, those interests never wavered. He was always looking out for Sherlock, always making sure he eased his way as best he could. No matter the methods, no matter the cause, it was important to him that Sherlock was cared for.

So as John Watson had moved out of 221B, found himself a female companion, and tied the knot (as it were), plans needed to be set into motion. Sherlock had found a lifeline in John, something Mycroft could see on occasion, yet had been completely baffled by. Now, that lifeline had been severed. Sure, the good doctor did his best to keep their relations up, but they all knew it wouldn’t be the same. Anyone who believed such was fooling himself.

The plan was easy enough. Through a string of events and crimes (none of which actually done by anyone in his employ, but crimes were easy enough to come across in London), Mycroft set in motion for Sherlock to begin working very closely again with Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. The older man had been an obvious choice, being that he had such a history with the Holmes family. Lestrade had known Sherlock, and Mycroft by extension, so much longer than John Watson ever had. On top of that, he had already experienced Sherlock at his worst. AND helped kick the destructive drug habit. Yes, it was the most logical pathway.

It worked. To an extent. However, it didn’t progress to the level it had with John. They did not go to dinner together. They didn’t move in together, though Mycroft hadn’t expected anything that drastic. Though, in working on cases, they did spend a little more time together. Usually at Baker Street. As if Sherlock would work anywhere else.

It was moving slowly, however. That should have been frustrating for the elder Holmes, who was used to getting results at much quicker speeds, but… it wasn’t. He found that it was actually more of a relief. In his plans to get them closer together, and observe them spending more time with one another, he began to feel something a bit unusual for him. He was jealous. He had scoffed at the idea at first, but no, he definitely was.

The jealousy was not over Lestrade, however. No, it was over Sherlock. Here he was, trying to push his brother and the Detective Inspector closer together, when in reality he wanted the chance to be closer with said Detective Inspector. Mycroft had always acknowledged the man’s attractiveness and had even been impressed with some of his methods and results, but he never expected this kind of emotional attachment.

Of course, when Mycroft Holmes set his mind to something, he got it done. That’s how he found himself standing at Baker Street, leaning on his umbrella, before entering and starting to make his way up the stairs. In his other hand was a file, a reason he gave himself to show up while the two men were inside working. Sherlock would see right through it immediately. That, however, was not the goal.

Two heads looked up as he entered the flat and cleared his throat. Lestrade gave him a look of surprise, mixed with something else he always tended to look at him with. It was an expression Mycroft hadn’t had the time to deduce yet, which was infuriating. It never lasted long enough, and it only seemed to occur when directed towards him. Sherlock was neutral as ever. Sharp blue eyes saw the file, and the younger brother sighed in exhaustion and stood.

“No need to even bring that up,” he drawled, waving a hand lazily. “I’m going to work on an experiment.”

Sherlock turned, heading for his bedroom.

“Sherlock, what about-“ Lestrade had started to say, but was silenced with a slamming door. Mycroft smirked a bit. He would have to think of a way to thank his dear brother later.

“Detective Inspector,” he greeted. The older man’s attention turned back to him, where it rightfully should be. Yes, he should have been trying to do this from the beginning.

“Mr. Holmes,” he returned, standing. The two of them always seemed to slip back and fourth from formal to first name basis. Mycroft set the folder down and stepped forward. He was tired of postponing things. These months of trying to get Sherlock closer with Lestrade took away his patience, leaving him ready to get the proper results.

“Come to dinner with me,” he said, reaching up and placing a slender finger under Lestrade’s scruffy chin. Brown eyes widened and full lips parted, and Mycroft found himself staring, wanting to take that bottom lip in between his teeth and bite possessively.

“I, um…” Lestrade turned back towards the bedroom door. Mycroft directed his gaze back to him.

“It wasn’t so much an invitation, Gregory. You will come to dinner. I do believe you’ve been wanting to for a while, as have I. I would very much like to treat you to a meal. For starters.”

His voice was smooth, sultry, and inviting. Lestrade’s pupils dilated in response. Mycroft smiled. Victory.

“Well,” the Detective Inspector said, clearing his throat and reaching out to grasp Mycroft’s silk tie loosely. “What are you waiting for then?”


	47. Football

“Come on Arsenal, bloody score already!” Greg shouted, throwing his hands up in the air in frustration. He collapsed back into the sofa, sighing in aggravation, and ran a hand through his silvery hair. He remained silent for a moment, eyes glued to the screen, before groaning at something else that had occurred.

“They can’t hear you, darling,” Mycroft commented after a moment. The politician was stretched out across the length of the sofa, his long legs curled around his partner and on his lap. In his own lap sat his laptop, which he had been typing away on. Neither man had to leave the house for work today, so they resolved to spend the day together (something they unfortunately never got to do). Of course, Greg’s favorite football team was playing in a tournament that very same day, and he’d wanted so badly to watch it. Mycroft, who could care less about the sport, resolved to remain in the room so they could still be in each other’s company. Even if his boyfriend’s rowdy behavior was almost causing him to rethink that decision.

“They’re making stupid mistakes,” Greg groaned, letting his head fall back in frustration. He loved Arsenal, he truly did. But it was hard being an Arsenal fan. They lost… a lot. This season had been exciting because they’d been doing so well, apart from a couple of poorly scored games against Liverpool, and here they were at a Cup game and not doing so great. Greg was decked out in his gear too: a team kit, red socks, and a red and white scarf hanging loosely around his neck. “They can so easily win this, so it’s infuriating seeing them botch it up so damn badly.”

Mycroft was half listening. He cared about the older man, though he didn’t care about the hobby. So he hummed where appropriate, going back to his typing. Since it was a relaxing day, he had chosen not to wear a three-piece suit. Instead, he was dressed down in just his trousers and a white button up, with the top three buttons undone. This had, of course, been something done by Greg during a rather mischievous make out session earlier that morning. Something Mycroft was want to repeat currently, if only to distract him from an apparently distressing match.

The rest of the quarter was spent with Greg feeling frustrated and irritated. Half time was called and he extracted himself to get a beer. He decided to make a quick cup of tea while he was in there, and brought it back into the living room to hand to Mycroft, who abandoned his laptop briefly to take it.

“Thank you, Gregory,” the younger man smiled genuinely, before taking a sip and humming at the taste. Greg smiled in adoration as he drank his beer. The moment he sat down, Mycroft’s legs returned to their state on his lap. With his free hand, Greg began lightly massaging one of them.

“I’m glad you’re in here with me. Thank you. I know you don’t care for football,” Greg smiled, squeezing Mycroft’s shin affectionately.

“Yes, but I care for you, and your company, which I am determined to keep on a day that will actually allow us to.”

“I could teach you.”

“I am well aware of the mechanics behind the game,” Mycroft commented, arching an eyebrow. “I just don’t care for it to hold my attention.”

Piercing pale eyes swept over Greg’s form, causing the older man to blush a bit at the attention. A smirk started to appear on Mycroft’s face, one Greg knew all too well, and he blinked.

“Something else, however, would hold my attention quite nicely,” he said, putting his laptop and teacup on the floor. Sitting up straight, he shifted and crawled onto Greg’s lap, straddling him. Leaning in, he kissed his boyfriend heatedly. The kiss was returned, even if it was slightly delayed due to Greg’s surprise. His free hand gripped at the material of his shirt tightly. Then, after a moment, Mycroft rolled his hips, creating friction between them that made Greg break the kiss with a gasp.

“Christ,” he groaned, letting his head fall back against the sofa again (though for a much nicer reason this time). Mycroft took this as an invitation to start kissing his exposed neck. Greg yelped a bit as he received a small bite, causing him to chew on his own lip.

After a few moments more, the game started back up. Mycroft straightened, gazing down at Greg, before climbing off him and returning to how he was normally sitting. He picked his laptop up again and resumed working, as if they hadn’t just been making out and rutting against each other like teenagers. It took Greg a few shaky minutes to curb his arousal, taking time to glare at the naughty man that he was so in love with, before finally his attention was back on the game. 

He cursed and cheered and drank. And Mycroft sat next to him, a permanent small, satisfied smile on his lips for the rest of the match.


	48. Fish And Chips

“I just don’t understand how you can eat that stuff,” Mycroft sighed, eyeing Greg’s plate warily. The older man glanced up, a chip in his hand, and he shrugged.

“Fish and chips are delicious, Myc. You’d get it if you’d actually try it,” he countered, pointing at the politician with the chip in his hand before popping it in his mouth and chewing. Mycroft shook his head, picking up his cup of tea and sipping on it gently. The two of them had both been able to step away from their offices to get lunch together. They’d gone to a small shoppe near New Scotland Yard that had seriously the best fish and chips near here. Greg ordered them every time he came by. Mycroft, unsurprisingly, had gotten tea and nothing else.

“I keep telling you that you don’t have to diet,” Greg said after a moment, sitting back in his chair. “You’re not eating.”

“I am not,” Mycroft responded, turning the teacup around in his hands, watching it absently. He released a soft sigh. “I merely wanted to enjoy your company. I am not hungry.”

“Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try to eat. You Holmes boys, I swear. Food is not an enemy to your bodies, you know.”

“I am not quite as extreme as Sherlock,” Mycroft chuckled. “I am just not hungry.”

Greg shook his head and sighed. He ate a few more chips and then a piece of fish, the two of them enjoying each other’s company in comfortable silence. It was something they were able to do quite often with each other, whether it was when they were eating somewhere, or if they were home lying on the sofa. After a little bit, though, Greg decided to revisit the topic at hand.

“I’m seriously about to order you some,” he said, motioning to his food. Mycroft sighed.

“Even if I were hungry, Gregory darling, I have no desire to eat fish and chips,” he said, giving him that pointed look. Greg, however, was a very stubborn man. Getting up, he did just as he threatened, ordering another plate of fish and chips for his partner. Never before had he gotten Mycroft to eat the food, but it wasn’t quite as disgustingly bad as the posh man tended to think. Greg had been eating it his whole life and turned out just fine. Today was the day, he was determined. He was going to get him to eat it.

Sitting back down, he dropped the plate in front of Mycroft, who eyed its contents warily.

“Go on then,” Greg said, waving at the plate the younger man was still staring at the plate as if it was going to poison him. He crossed his arms and tilted his chin stubbornly. “Not gonna let you leave until you try it, Myc. Come on. For me? It’s really not as bad as you’re letting yourself believe.”

Mycroft glanced at his partner, only to be staring into those large brown eyes that he always found difficult to say no to. It was an evil tactic, most certainly. With a sigh, Mycroft’s shoulders sagged and he nodded. Greg grinned in victory, watching as the politician reached for the silverware sitting next to him. His grin twitched a bit, and he blinked.

“What are you…doing?” he asked as Mycroft picked up a fork.

“As you requested, of course,” Mycroft said, staring at him.

“With that?” Greg continued, staring at the fork in his hand. Mycroft looked at it as well.

“Naturally,” he said hesitantly. “With what else would I eat?”

Greg raised a hand to cover his mouth. After a moment, though, he couldn’t hold back, and started laughing. Mycroft sighed, clearly irritated at the older man, and set the fork down forcefully.

“Myc, honey, no. It’s meant to be eaten with your hands, love,” he said in between laughter.

“My hands? Oh good lord, no. Not this greasy stuff.”

“I’m telling you, it’s not that bad. Especially not here. Now please put the fork down and just eat.”

Mycroft was clearly irritated. Were the man a cat, he’d be fluffed up as he glared at the whole circumstance. However, he did end up setting the fork down and resting his wrists on the table in front of him as he stared at the food again. Greg controlled his laughing and waited patiently.

Finally, Mycroft reached forward and grabbed a piece of fish. He lifted it, continuing to examine it with sharp eyes, before finally taking a bite. His face was blank and he made no noise as he chewed, took another bite, and then set it down. He then did the same with a chip.

“Well?” Greg asked after a beat. Mycroft reached for a napkin and wiped his hand on it, sighing.

“It’s… not horrible,” he admitted, pursing his lips in a thin line. Greg grinned.

“Told ya.”


	49. Shaken Up

Usually, whenever Greg was done for the day, he’d head home and either curl up on the sofa with Mycroft, or wait for Mycroft to get home so they could curl up on the sofa. Point being, he was always eager to get home. It was something that had come back to him upon dating Mycroft, and moving in together after a year of said dating. He got out of his dingy, depressing, empty bachelor’s flat, and moved in with a man he was head over heels in love with.

Greg did not go straight home from the Met that day. Instead, he went to his usual pub. He sat down at the bar, silenced his mobile, and ordered a pint. In silence, he drank said pint. The telly above the bar had a match on, but his eyes never rose to it. They remained glued on the bar top, and the sweating glass in between his hands. He had a second, and then a third, before calling it quits and paying. He was still in a weird mood, and still shaken up, but he knew he should go home now. If he stayed, he’d continue drinking, and then he’d be drunk and trying to get a cab home.

He sighed; his whole body sluggish and exhausted and he stepped inside his and Mycroft’s shared home. He practically dumped his coat onto the rack instead of hanging it normally, tripped out of his shoes, and headed down the hall. Instead of going to the sitting room, he turned and made his way up the steps to the bedroom. Wordlessly, he tugged off his suit jacket, shirt, and trousers. In just his pants, he collapsed onto the bed and buried his face into Mycroft’s pillow.

“Gregory?” came a calming, curious voice. Greg stirred, realizing in that moment that he’d fallen asleep. What time was it? Sighing, he moved to sit up, rubbing his eyes and staring at the duvet on the bed. A moment later, he heard precise footsteps enter the bedroom. “Gregory, what’s wrong?”

The smile Greg gave was half-hearted. Of course Mycroft could tell right away that something was the matter. His boyfriend was brilliant like that. He’d never been able to hide anything from him. Not that he’d ever wanted to. As he looked up at his partner, though, everything that he’d held back up until now came crashing forward. His resolve was gone. Mortified as he was inwardly, he could feel the hot, prickly sensation coming in around his eyes, and his vision blurred a bit with tears that didn’t quite want to fall.

Mycroft was on the bed and at Greg’s side in an instant. Slender arms shot out and wrapped around his form, tugging him into a tight kiss. The younger man’s pointed nose buried itself in silvery strands, the same strands that were getting stroked lovingly. Greg trembled, clutching onto the man for dear life.

“Your case,” Mycroft said, not a question. Even if he didn’t always know the intimate details, he was always aware of what the nature of the emotion was from. Hell, for all Greg knew, he did know the details, and just allowed him to talk about it anyway so he could feel better. Greg was quiet for a beat before he nodded.

“Y-yeah,” he sighed, sniffing and nuzzling into his lover’s neck. Finally, he pulled away and allowed himself to sit up. He scrubbed his face with a hand and sighed again, before running the hand through his hair. “I always keep my emotions separate from the crime scenes, you know.”

Mycroft was patient and silent, nodding and humming where appropriate. It was clear he wanted to let Greg get everything off his chest on his own terms. Glancing down at the duvet, he began fiddling with it absently.

“The body was… She was thirteen, Mycroft,” he continued after a moment, his voice trembling. “She’d been beaten, raped… It was…”

He shut his eyes, sighing. It had been awful. He’d almost not been able to handle staying on the scene at first.

“And then I had to tell her parents. That was just as bad. It was… She looked so much like Elizabeth, Myc. And I kept thinking, what if it had been her? What if I was the father getting that kind of news? That my little girl, my precious baby, had such horrible things done to her. Had been dropped in a ditch for three days before she was found. Christ, I just…”

He broke off, voice trembling, as a few tears escaped. He didn’t realize they had until he felt slender fingers rubbing against his cheek and brushing them away. Mycroft was gazing at him with soft, compassionate eyes. Then, leaning in, he brushed their lips together gently.

“Elizabeth is home safe, is she not?” he asked evenly, his voice soft. Greg nodded.

“Yeah. Called her shortly after, just to… Didn’t tell her why. She doesn’t need to know that kinda thing.”

Leaning forward, he buried his face into Mycroft’s neck again and breathed deeply, letting his scent wrap around him. He was still shaken, could still see her… but he was starting to feel a little better. Mycroft held him, allowing him time to calm down, stroking his hair and the back of his neck repeatedly.

“Come, darling. I’ll make you some tea. Then perhaps a hot bath is in order, yes?”

Greg smiled, gazing up at Mycroft. His boyfriend. One of the kindest men he’d ever known. He nodded.

“That sounds lovely. Thank you.”

“Always.” And before they got up, Mycroft leaned in for another sweet, lingering kiss. One that said nothing and everything all at the same time.


	50. First Time

Mycroft was aware of the mechanics of sexual intercourse. He was a genius, of course he was aware of them. In being aware, not once had he ever had a burning desire to participate in such an activity. Even in university, where the majority of his peers finally experimented with one another, he didn’t participate. Not that anyone had been lined up outside his door to try, anyway.

This was something he had been perfectly content with. He was in no rush to go out and writhe around all sweaty and panting with another person. People were awful. He much preferred his silent life, behind the scenes, bending things the way they needed to be. But that was all before Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade had come into his life.

Through a run-in with his extremely drugged up younger brother, Gregory Lestrade became slotted into the goings on of the Holmes boys. It had been irritating at first, frustrating and worrying when it came to he and Sherlock’s relationship. Theirs was, however, strictly business, with the older man seemingly taking on a fatherly role in Sherlock’s life above everything. Plus, when he was the root cause of Sherlock kicking his drug habit, Mycroft realized this was no ordinary DI.

What became interest turned into much more. He hadn’t realized it at the time, maybe, but as it turned out, he had fallen in love with that man. Over the years, as their correspondence become more regular, it seemed that those feels had been returned just as quickly and just as strong. So Mycroft found himself in a position he’d never imagined he’d be in; first figuratively, and then literally.

They became intimately involved, kisses turning into touches, which turned into pants and gropes and even rutting, for gods sake. It was a ridiculously primal act that the logical part of Mycroft’s brain made him want to wrinkle his extremely pointed nose at, but the spark of heat that shot through his gut as he rocked his hips against Gregory’s thigh shut that part down. This was not the first time they’d ended up in this position, and as Mycroft had his head tilted back with Greg’s lips on his neck, the realization finally hit him.

He wanted this. He was ready.

Reaching up, he gripped silvery hair and pulled the older man back, who gazed up at him with slight confusion and full-blown lust. A man who cared deeply for him, who had never once pressed the situation to go farther than he was comfortable with. A man he’d been in love with for a lot longer than he’d ever realized. Swallowing, he licked his lips and moved to cup Greg’s cheek.

“I’m ready,” he voiced, his normally smooth voice roughened with arousal. He watched as those brown eyes grew dark, almost black, in response, and Greg gripped his waist securely.

“You’re sure?” came his deep questioning response. It made Mycroft shiver. His voice was rough enough normally, but adding these elements to it practically made the man’s voice sex enough on its own. He nodded.

“Yes, Gregory. Please.” Mycroft could feel heat in his cheeks. He was flushed with a mixture of arousal and embarrassment. Here he was, practically pleading like the little virgin he supposed he technically was. Naturally, it wasn’t that dramatic, but it still felt ridiculous.

Their touches became much more purposeful after this. Lube and condoms were produced, and before long they had both been shed of all their clothing. Greg worked at it slow, preparing him properly with his fingers. It felt like torture, and Mycroft was practically writhing, wanting, needing more. He was becoming impatient, but still his lover went slowly. Of course, it was logical. But his brain had begun throwing logic out the window. He just wanted to feel.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Greg removed his fingers and began preparing himself with the condom and then more lube. But instead of climbing over him, or moving him onto his stomach like Mycroft was expecting, he took his hand and pulled him to straddle his lap. Mycroft blinked down at the older man curiously.

“This way, you can control our pace. It’ll be easier for you,” he said in explanation, leaning forward to nuzzle at Mycroft’s pale collarbone. Ah. That made sense. Mycroft lifted himself up onto his knees and licked his lips nervously, and underneath Greg positioned himself properly.

“Just remember to relax,” came Greg’s soft, deep voice again. “Take it slow. I’ve got you.”

Mycroft exhaled, closing his eyes briefly at the feeling of his tip brushing against him. He gripped onto Greg’s tan shoulders, taking a deep breath, and then exhaling as he lowered himself. Pain immediately shot through him, causing him to suck in a breath and dig his manicured nails into the shoulders he was gripping. Relax, he told himself. He needed to relax. His heart was pounding and a soft noise escaped him involuntarily, but he forced himself to relax and then continued. It still hurt, and he whimpered again, but finally Greg had been taken all the way inside him.

The older man cradled his face and kissed him gently, helping to take his mind off the pain and he settled in and tried getting used to the odd feeling inside him. It was painful, but it was also… nice. It was a strange combination, to be sure. They kissed, and caressed, and it all felt so wonderful that he started to forget about the pain as arousal took back over. As it had, Mycroft began moving.

The pace was slow and uneven. No doubt it was a sloppy performance. But Greg never let that show. Instead he elicited the sweetest of moans, his hands resting on Mycroft’s waist, shifting with him to allow the movement to continue. Mycroft was throbbing, sweat starting to trickle down his neck, but he paid attention to none of it. He picked up pace, hips rocking more eagerly as the pain practically became nonexistent, being completely overtaken by pleasure. His thin lips parted as he panted, eyes closed tight, the two of them starting to move in more fluid motion with one another.

His eyes flew open as a sharper pleasure shot right through his gut, white-hot vibrating through him, and he cried out despite himself. Now that was something he’d never experienced before. The feeling became repeated, every time Greg thrust into him, and he found himself bending forward and burying his face in the crook of his lover’s neck to muffle himself. He was becoming embarrassingly loud. This must be what it felt like to have one’s prostate stimulated. He never wanted it to end.

Motions became more urgent, more animalistic. Mycroft even found himself biting and sucking the skin of Greg’s shoulder, the two men arching and moaning together. Finally, the build up became too much, and when Greg wrapped a confident hand around his erection, he knew it was over. Trembling, Mycroft froze as his orgasm ripped through him, spilling sticky moisture in between their bodies. Greg yelped and moaned, stilling just moments after as his own arrived just moments after. Together they sat, panting and twitching, riding out the aftershocks, until they finally looked back in each other’s eyes.

Mycroft leaned in and they began kissing again. It was full of emotion and intense, but it was less urgent. More was being said in this kiss than they could have hoped to say currently with words. He clutched Greg tightly, before finally dislodging them from one another, where they moved to settling into each other’s arms.

As they were lying there, Mycroft knew he would have to get up and take a shower. There was no way he would fall asleep a sticky mess. But for now, he allowed them this moment. This blissful moment, nuzzling and kissing and stroking, where they basked in the beauty of what they had done.

Mycroft had never believed sex to be more than a primal act, which is partially why he’d never had any interest. How wrong he had been. He would readily admit that to himself (even if he never did to any other). While previously, he had arched an eyebrow at those who seemed to focus on the act, he now understood as he found himself wondering when they will have recovered and would be able to go at one another again.

He supposed it partially had to do with the wonderfulness that was Greg. That man… Well, Mycroft didn’t think he would ever get over that man. He never wanted to. He craved him in a way he’d never done for anyone or anything, and it was perfect.


	51. Stop Worrying

Mycroft was pacing back and fourth on the other side of the room. Greg watched him quietly from where he was sitting in a chair. Mycroft never paced like this. He needed to go home. Sighing, he pushed himself to stand, and glanced over at the bed containing a much thinner and much paler Sherlock, asleep, before walking over to his partner. He came up behind him and reached out to grasp his biceps gently, coaxing him to halt.

“Let’s go home,” he whispered. Mycroft sighed through his nose, turning to face him.

“I’m fine,” came a clipped response. The politician’s face was the picture of emotionless; the mask he wore when he couldn’t afford to be open. Greg knew it all too well. He gazed up at the taller man empathetically. He was not so easy to fool.

“Let’s go home,” he repeated, tugging him towards the door. “He’ll be asleep for hours, and John’s coming back. Come on.”

Mycroft said nothing, but he allowed himself to be led through the hospital and down to where a black car was waiting for them. As always. Opening the door, Greg made Mycroft climb in first, before joining him, and they were driven home.

The ride was quiet. Mycroft stared out the window for the majority of it, back rigid, hands plastered at his sides. Greg remained a constant presence next to him, reaching out to place a hand on his knee and squeezing gently. Mycroft made no motion to acknowledge the touch. Getting out of the vehicle and inside their home was very much the same. Though, instead of allowing Mycroft to vanish somewhere in the house after hanging up his jacket, Greg caught his hand and threaded their fingers together, tugging him into the sitting room and onto the sofa.

“He’ll be okay, Myc,” Greg finally said after a moment, wrapping his arm around slender shoulders. He leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek.

“Sherlock hasn’t been this bad off since…” the younger man started, but faded off. It was uncharacteristic, but when it came to Sherlock, Mycroft tended to be. At least, in a way he allowed Greg to see after their years together.

“Since the last time he overdosed,” Greg finished for him. “I know. I was there.”

“I know you were,” Mycroft nodded, closing his eyes. His brow was furrowed, yet he said nothing else.

“C’mere,” Greg beckoned, nudging Mycroft to lean against him. He started stroking his hair gently, in attempts to soothe him. After a moment, he could feel some of the tension seeping out of his figure. “It’s okay to be scared, you know.”

“I am not,” Mycroft huffed stubbornly. Greg just smiled.

“I’m just saying,” he commented. He purposefully did not bring up the fact that he knew otherwise, or that there was no use lying to him. But he kept his mouth shut. There was no need to voice it when they both knew it. Mycroft sighed.

“It… It’s uncomfortable. Seeing him in such a state. Besides, the doctors are all rather incompetent, and he would honestly be better off in this house, in my care.”

Greg continued to stroke his hair, nuzzling the top of his head gently, letting Mycroft get this off his chest. It was the way he showed how much he cared. He could see through the front he was still putting up, and see that he was absolutely horrified. This was out of his control, and Mycroft didn’t do well when things were out of his control.

“We’ve gotten through just as bad,” he said. “In the early days, this kind of situation was more normal than not. And look how it turned out. John came along and he understood what it meant to be happy. He’ll push through this. He has reasons to.”

Silence. Both men were still, letting the words that had been spoken sink in. Eventually, after what had to be at least half an hour of not speaking, Mycroft lifted his head and turned to look at Greg. Those sharp blue eyes were filled with worry. His face was smooth as ever, but he could see the panic in his partner’s features. However, it was mixed with slight comfort.

“You are right, I’m sure,” he said softly, sighing. 

“Of course I am,” Greg smiled, leaning in to kiss Mycroft sweetly. He cupped his cheek, stroking the skin, and brushed the tips of their noses together before parting. “We’ll go back tomorrow, okay?”

Mycroft nodded, and leaned in for another comforting kiss.


	52. Sussex

“God, I could stay here forever,” Greg sighed, stretching his legs out in front of his and his arms up behind his head. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back, enjoying the warmth from the sun up above, mixed with a calm wind that kept it from getting too hot. Mycroft hummed in agreement next to him, legs crossed and a book in his hand.

It was amazing how getting away from London could land them such beautiful weather. The two men were currently taking a mini vacation at a small Holmes family estate up in Sussex. Small for a Holmes standard, anyway. The place was still bloody huge in Greg’s opinion. It really seemed to suit Mycroft though, in the way it was kept up and decorated. It was clear he used it much more than Sherlock (if the detective used it at all).

“We could, you know,” Mycroft spoke after a moment. Enough time had gone by that Greg had to blink for a second, before he realized.

“Oh?” he asked, taking off his sunglasses so he could gaze at his partner better. Mycroft turned away from his book to return the gaze, smiling softly.

“Indeed. This is my estate, Gregory. In turn, that makes it yours. To come here whenever you wish.”

Greg was silent, blinking. He broke their gaze so he could look out along the backyard again, where they were sitting. They’d been resting on the patio, which was complete with a full set of outdoor furniture and a hot tub. The trees in the backyard had to be so old, and gave off the perfect shadow. He could even see his girls climbing the huge branches, if they visited. The house was large, but not vast or empty feeling. There was an entertainment room, a workout room, a few bedrooms apart from the master, and plenty others that could be studies or libraries, or anything they wanted it to be. The kitchen was glorious, something that made the chef inside of him want to drool with glee. Sighing, Greg ran a hand through his hair and grinned.

“Don’t tease me, Myc. Are you serious?”

“Naturally. Why would I jest about something like this?” Mycroft asked, arching his eyebrow in its trademark fashion.

Greg felt himself get a bit giddy. He had always been one to envision the two of them throughout their lives, over the course of their relationship, but it was never really something they talked about. To have this kind of conversation, even if it came across as seemingly meaningless, was a big deal to him. Suddenly needing some movement, he hopped up out of his chair and paced leisurely around the patio.

“We could retire here,” he commented absently, his mind racing with the possibilities. They were endless. “Once I left the force, and your position becomes less office-based. We could retire up here. Get out of London. You could take up gardening, maybe…” 

“It’s always been something I’ve been curious to do in my spare time,” Mycroft chimed in. Closing his book, the politician stood and joined the older man, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his chin on Greg’s shoulder.

“You do have that bonsai tree,” Greg pointed out, turning to kiss Mycroft’s temple. He smiled.

“Of course, and I still would. But the potential of this backyard is almost a bit staggering, Gregory.”

He’d been so surprised of Mycroft’s seemingly green thumb when he’d found out a few months prior, but Greg loved it. It suited him. Just as it would suit him to spend time out here in a truly developed garden. Greg grinned brightly, feeling much younger than he really was.

“It would be…” he started, pressing their heads together and closing his eyes. “It would be lovely.”

“It will be,” Mycroft corrected surely. “There’s no use in talking figuratively over something that is so easily reality, darling. Now come, let’s go in. I’d rather enjoy drawing up a bath for us.”

Greg nodded, letting the younger man take his hand and lead him back toward the house. He threaded their fingers together, staring at Mycroft’s back, before taking a final look at the backyard before they went inside. Yes… He truly did love this place.


	53. Sneaking In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teen AU

Determination was key. That was what Greg told himself as he stood in the backyard of the Holmes manor, staring up at the balcony that he knew led to Mycroft’s room. How did he know it led to the boy’s room? He couldn’t quite say. But it did, and he was about to scale the wall. Hell, he was eighteen, he was a nimble climber. 

So scale the wall he did. He all but fell over onto the balcony and moved to knock quietly on the closed sliding door. There was no response for a moment, so he knocked again. Finally, the younger boy he was so eager to see peeked out and slid the door open, pale eyes wide with shock.

“What are you doing here?” Mycroft hissed, looking over at the other teen like he’d grown a second head.

“I missed you,” Greg shrugged casually. His boyfriend had been pulled out of London on a family business trip and had been gone for two weeks, having only gotten back last night. They talked on the phone every night while he was away, but it wasn’t the same as seeing him in person. “Can I come in?”

“If my parents find you here, they will kill me,” Mycroft sighed, but he opened the door wider anyway and stepped back. This was the invitation Greg had needed, and he slipped into the room and shut the door behind him.

Without another word, he strode right up to Mycroft and wrapped his arms around his waist, leaning in to kiss him sweetly. His boyfriend responded instantly, lifting his arms to reach around his neck and press the two of them close. His hand slid into Greg’s black hair, gripping securely.

“How was your trip?” Greg asked against Mycroft’s lips once they broke apart slightly.

“Boring. Father brought me along to see how the meetings and such worked, but… I just did a lot of sitting around. Very tedious. I would have much rather been here, where I could’ve seen you.”

Pulling apart, Mycroft threaded their fingers together and tugged Greg over to his large bed. They climbed onto it and moved to lie down, curling up against each other. Mycroft nuzzled into Greg’s tan neck, who smiled softly.

“How was it back here?” he asked, his breath hitting Greg’s skin. It felt good. Comforting.

“Same old same. School was not excited, as always. The band’s been practicing; we’ve got a gig coming up. I hope you can come?” Greg asked, running his hands through the younger boy’s dark, slightly ginger hair.

“I hope so as well. Be sure to give me the information.”

Greg smiled and nodded. Sure, his band didn’t play the type of music Mycroft normally listened to, but the Holmes boy had started to listen to it a bit more once the two of them had begun dating. He’d been wanting to get him to one of their gigs for a while, as small and unimportant as they really were, and it seemed it would finally happen.

They continued to lie on the bed, kissing and talking softly, completely relaxed in each other’s presence. That is, until there was a knock on the door. Freezing, Mycroft’s eyes widened and he started shoving at Greg.

“Get under the covers and lie flat Gregory,” he hissed, practically scrambling to get the older teen hidden before the door opened.

“Mycroft, dear, dinner will be ready soon,” an older woman said as she poked her head in the room. Mycroft had sat up, moving in front of where Greg was attempting to stay hidden. He nodded.

“Yes, thank you mummy. I shall be down shortly.”

“And fetch your brother.”

“Of course, mummy.”

Silence for a moment, as the two exchanged smiles, and then Mummy Holmes left and shut the door. Mycroft exhaled and slumped his shoulders as Greg tugged the duvet down and poked his head out.

“Whew, that was close,” he huffed, laughing and grinning. Mycroft glared at him over his shoulder and proceeded to smack him with a pillow.


	54. Small Gifts

When Greg got to Scotland Yard that morning and got into his office, there was a fresh coffee and a brown paper bag sitting square in the middle of his desk. Blinking curiously, he set his briefcase down on the floor and walked over, peeking in the bag to find a piece of coffee cake. Licking his lips, he walked around and sat, taking a sip of the coffee and groaning. Goddamn was it some of the best he’d ever had. It was then that he saw the small note attached to the bag.

A little pick-me up for the start of what is sure to be a long day. Lunch later? -MH

Greg smiled over his coffee cup, reaching out and running his thumb across the delicately scrawled words. It was a small gesture, sure, but it carried heavy meaning behind it. Humming softly, he pulled out the coffee cake and tore off a piece, chewing happily. His day would be decidedly better now.

The next time a gesture had come through like this, Greg had been stuck at the Yard for almost 36 hours straight. It was one of the most grueling cases of his career, even with Sherlock and John working it as well, and he was currently staring at the results of the victim’s autopsy for what had to be at least the fourth time. His vision was blurring, and he scrubbed at his face, deciding he needed to go on a coffee run.

A knock sounded on his door, and Sally popped her head in, holding up a sack. Greg’s brow furrowed as she brought it over and dumped it on his desk.

“For you, sir,” she prompted, nodding at it with a soft smile, and was gone before he could respond. Blinking, he opened the sack, pulling out a container of food from the nearby Chinese place that he loved. It was still hot and fresh, and it was some of his favorite stuff. Another note was attached, in that gorgeous handwriting.

Don’t forget to eat. You neglect yourself needlessly during a particularly rough case. –MH

So he ate. If he hadn’t received that food, he doubted he would’ve made it out to eat that night. Mycroft knew him too well. It made Greg start to wonder where he’d be without his relationship with the politician.

The gifts were always simple, always practical. But Greg still considered them gifts. There was a hint of romance behind them, something most capable with a Holmes. It suited Mycroft very well, and it was something that made Greg feel special. He felt thought of, looked after. Not to mention that they always showed up when he needed it the most.

As he all but dragged himself into his office one morning and collapsed into his chair, another token was revealed. He opened his briefcase on his desk, sniffing deeply and trying to ignore the miserable throbbing in his head. He blinked at what was revealed among his files. A pack of paracetamol, some of his favorite tea (that he could combine with hot water at some point during the day), and one of Mycroft’s own handkerchiefs (a silky dark blue cloth that had a white crisscross pattern going across it). As he unfolded the handkerchief, a note fell out.

This will be more pleasant for your nose than the tissues kept at the Yard. Try to keep your strength up, darling. I can care for you properly later this evening. –MH

There were also the small series of quirky gifts that was on more of a playful, joking side. Two of the more recent ones being an apple with a note that read: They say an apple a day will keep the doctor away, but it is also rather effective when thrown in the direction of the doctor’s flatmate. –MH, and a set of earplugs with the following note: I understand that a visit from Sherlock is imminent later. This should prove useful when he starts talking just for the sake of talking. –MH 

No matter the context or the meaning behind them, Greg adored them. He got them at least once a week, no matter what. It made no difference if the two men had seen each other earlier that morning, or if Mycroft was in another country all together. He received them without fail.

He kept every note. They were stored away in a small compartment in the top drawer of his desk, so when he needed a moment to breathe and relax, he pulled them out and read them. They never failed to bring a smile to his face.


	55. En Francais

There were many things over the course of Mycroft’s relationship with Greg that surprised him. He knew so much, about the concept of love and intimacy (and the practice, of course, he wasn’t born yesterday), and he knew more about the inner workings of the older man before they’d ever gotten together, but even still, he surprised him. That was part of the draw, he supposed. The fascination that emerged from it is what inevitably ended them up where they were now, as an actual couple.

One night, as he was relaxing in the sitting room and reading, one of those surprises came about. There was no reason for the surprise, but in looking back on it later, was one of the most pleasant ones he’d experienced. His other half was pacing back and fourth in irritation, having just receiving a phone call from New Scotland Yard in regards to a case that he’d been involved in, but not as the head detective. Mycroft wasn’t completely aware of the situation, but he didn’t need to be.

“Personne ne m'écoute et c'est ce qui arrive. C'est pourquoi je dois tout faire moi-même. On pourrait penser qu'un jour ils seraient simplement écouter [1],” he was grumbling hotly, texting lightning speed on his mobile. It was no surprise or secret that Greg was fluent in French; his father had grown up there, after all. He still had strong family ties to the country. French was also nothing new to Mycroft. He spoke six languages completely fluently, and French had been the second one he’d learned.

So why was it that as he listened to Greg fussing away in French, did Mycroft start finding it much more difficult to concentrate on the pages in front of him?

He waited patiently, however, for a convenient moment to interrupt. Closing his book, he stood and strode over to where his other half was, unable to ignore the small heat growing in his belly.

“Is this a bad time?” he asked softly, eyebrow arched as he reached out to gently grasp the older man’s bicep. He knew the answer, or he wouldn’t have bothered actually walking over, but it was something one did sometimes when initiating a conversation. Greg stopped and opened his mouth to respond, but noticed the dark look in his eyes and stopped short.

“No, not-“ he started, but Mycroft shushed him by pressing a slender finger to his lips.

“En français,” he practically growled. Greg blinked, realization dawning on him, and his growing pupils reflected his bodily reaction to the command. Oh. Slowly, he began smirking, taking a step forward to close some of the distance between the two of them.

“Je pense que je peux faire un peu de temps [2],” he whispered, leaning in to brush the tip of his nose along Mycroft’s jaw. Mycroft tilted his chin instantly, giving his partner more access to the expanse of skin there and shivering slightly. His grip on Greg’s bicep tightened slightly. Goodness, the things his body was doing in response to the older man speaking French… It was beneficial that he had such good self-control.

“Vous me voulez [3]?” Greg asked deeply, nipping at the pulse point of Mycroft’s neck. The politician swallowed, licking his lips.

“Yes,” he sighed, pressing his slender body against the strong one of his partner.

“Je vais vous prendre [4],” he continued, lowering down and sucking on Mycroft’s collarbone. Mycroft let out a soft noise, a whimper, feeling his knees start to tingle as arousal was taking over his body.

“Tell me,” he commanded. He wanted to hear more. He needed to hear.

“Vous méchant homme. Je vais arracher vos vêtements et vous jeter sur notre matelas. Je vais vous laisser se tordant et en redemande. Et c'est seulement quand vous êtes hors de votre esprit avec l'excitation que je donnerai vous relâchez [5].” Greg’s hands had started to roam, teasing touches that slipped under neatly placed articles of clothing. He gripped at Mycroft’s waist and shoved them together, rocking his hips and creating sweet friction that caused them both to almost groan.

Desperately, Mycroft grabbed Greg’s head and forced him up to kiss him. The kiss was rough, all teeth and tongue and need, and they only broke apart when neither man could breathe.

“Then do it,” Mycroft snarled, shoving them both in the direction of the bedroom.

 

[1] No one listens to me and this is what happens. This is why I have to do everything myself. You would think that one day they would just listen.

[2] I think I can make some time.

[3] Do you want me?

[4] I'm going to take you.

[5] You naughty man. I'm going to tear off your clothes and throw you down on our mattress. I'm going to leave you writhing and begging for more. And only when you're out of your mind with arousal will I give you release.


	56. Skype Call

Everything sucked. Work was awful, the perp got away, and Greg sprained his ankle in the process. On top of that, Sherlock was being more of a frustrating brat than he normally was, and after everything, he was coming home to an empty flat. Sighing in resignation, he hung up his soaked coat (because it was also pouring rain, as if it wasn’t aggravating enough) and trudged through to the bedroom to change into comfortable, baggy clothing.

Mycroft was out of the country. He’d been out of the country for going on three weeks now. What was supposed to be a one-week business trip turned into two, and then three, and it was looking as if it would be going on a full month with the way the politician had been talking. Whatever they were attempting wasn’t getting anywhere, and as they talked over the phone almost nightly, Mycroft seemed to be getting more and more fed up. Unfortunately, he was too important a party involved to leave everything and come home. So he remained there. And Greg remained alone.

Grumpily, he padded into the kitchen once he’d pulled on some old sweatpants and a football kit shirt to make some coffee. He also hadn’t been sleeping well, and even with as much exhaustion and pain that he was in, tonight would most likely be much of the same. He made his drink and then headed into the room that had been turned into his study when they’d moved in together. Powering up his laptop, he browsed his emails briefly and then started digging through case files to try and keep his mind occupied.

Some time later, as he was pouring over some of his most recent notes and only half reading what he’d written down, he heard a noise emitting from his laptop. Blinking, he turned his head, seeing his new Skype notification bouncing up and down. He immediately abandoned everything he’d been holding to turn to the screen. Mycroft was calling. He suddenly felt like a kid on Christmas morning, and he settled into his seat more comfortably before answering.

The call loaded for a moment, before the screen revealed the wonderful face of his partner. The younger man was still in a suit (sort of; the jacket was gone and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone), looking as professional and put together as always. His calm face turned happy, a small smile sliding onto his features, as they became face to face with each other.

“Good evening, Gregory,” he prompted, speaking first. Greg ran a hand through his hair and smiled.

“Hey Myc,” he returned, leaning forward a bit to prop up his elbow on the edge of his desk. “How’d today go?”

“Much like yesterday,” Mycroft responded, annoyance and exhaustion passing onto his face briefly. “I would very much like for things to get put on track so they can be wrapped up. It’s getting tedious and unnecessary.”

“And I miss you,” Greg said, voicing the thought that was constantly running through his head.

“I know Gregory. I apologize. Had I thought-“

“You didn’t know,” Greg stopped him, putting up a hand. “Besides, whatever it is, it’s important that you’re there. I can’t keep you from that.”

No matter how much he wanted to.

A moment of comfortable silence fell between them as Mycroft had to type out a quick text on his mobile. Greg just watched for the majority of the time, drinking in the sight of the man he missed more than anything, though he did take a sideways glance at the floor after a moment.

“You’ve had a bad day,” came the politician’s ever-correct deduction. It pulled Greg’s attention back to the computer screen. He sighed through his nose, his shoulders dropping slightly.

“The worst,” he confirmed, and proceeded to talk about as much as he could without diving into the finer points of the case. His job came with their own confidences, even if 90% of the time they weren’t necessary when talking to Mycroft. He usually knew anyway. By the end he felt frazzled and fed up again, and he huffed. “And I just wanted to come home, and relax and…”

“And see me,” Mycroft finished quietly, eyes soft. “Gregory, I am sorry.”

Greg shook his head and waved a hand in front of his face. He took a deep breath, trying to fight back the prickly feeling that was coming in around his eyes. This was ridiculous. He was so stressed he was about to start crying, and there was no reason for it. He needed to pull himself together.

“Just hurry and come home, yeah?” he asked, his voice cracking some. He did, however, manage a smile. Mycroft nodded.

“Of course.” Leaning forward slightly, Mycroft reached out his hand and pressed it up to the camera, palm out. Greg returned the gesture, their hands pressed together digitally (something they did every time they video chatted). “I love you, Gregory.”

Greg blinked. Mycroft wasn’t one to speak the infamous three words very often. He showed how much he loved him in so many other ways. So many ways that was more elegant and did their feelings for each other justice. It seemed, however, that the younger man knew he needed to hear the words. Tears welled up in his eyes again, and leaning in, Greg pressed a kiss to the camera.

“I love you too, Myc.”


	57. Annoyingly Nervous

“I can go to the office for the evening. There’s always work to be done,” Mycroft said softly, standing in front of a window in the bedroom and staring out at the sky. Behind him and half dressed, Greg sighed softly. He walked up behind the younger man and wrapped his arms around his waist, pressing close and resting his forehead against the back of his shoulder.

“You could, yes. But the point is that I don’t want you to, Myc,” Greg said pointedly. “You’re extremely important to me. Just as they are. You’re a part of my life now.”

Mycroft sighed through his nose. Never before had he felt the way he was feeling currently: nervous. He had the urge of flight and it was a strange one. Greg’s two daughters were coming over for dinner later that evening, and it was going to be the first time they were meeting him. Dad’s new boyfriend. Mycroft also had no experience with children in his adult life. Sure, he basically raised Sherlock as they were growing up, but that was long ago and a different time.

Mycroft was not an impressionable guy. He’d never desired to be. He was settled in his life and the way things were run. Children, however… They were immensely unpredictable beings. It wasn’t just that, though. These were his partner’s children. Greg was a brilliant father, and those two girls were his world, so there was a lot riding on this meeting. It had to go well or it would prove difficult. But to have a ten- and sixteen-year-old coming by…

“Come on, love. They’ll be here soon.” Greg patted his bicep gently, breaking him from his trance. Mycroft’s lips pressed together in a thin line and he almost reluctantly turned to follow the older man to the kitchen. He had a strong urge to pour himself a glass of scotch. Perhaps he could retreat to his study and do so.

“Myc?” came Greg’s deep voice after a moment, pulling Mycroft from his thoughts. He blinked and turned to face him, raising his eyebrows slightly.

“Yes Gregory?” he asked calmly. Greg was looking at him curiously, in that way he looked at Mycroft when he could tell something was up. It was almost frustrating. Mycroft had made his life out of not being able to be read by anyone, apart from Sherlock (and even that was spotty at times, he was the smarter one after all). Yet here he was, practically an open book with Greg. Of course, the detective inspector knew him in ways no other individual ever would, so he supposed that was something that came with it as well.

“You’re real out of it,” he pointed out, annoyingly accurate. Mycroft just sighed, because really, there was no point in denying it. The other man walked over to him, gazing up at his face with all the adoration and patience in the world. “They’re going to love you, I know it. Stop freaking out. Just be yourself, and you will charm the pants off of them. Just like you did me.”

“If I’m recalling, there was little charming,” Mycroft countered. “You were rather angry.”

“Because you kidnapped me in the middle of a case,” Greg laughed softly. “But you charmed the hell out of me later. Besides, there’s no kidnapping tonight. Just Elizabeth and Abby coming over to meet the love of their da’s life. They’re excited to finally meet you. I don’t see how it could go wrong.”

“There are many ways it could go wrong, Gregory-“ Mycroft started, huffing. He was silenced, however, as Greg lifted himself up and crashed their lips together in a passionate kiss. It took a second before the younger man responded, but he did, a slender hand going up and running through the silvery hair of his lover. They pressed close, kissing until they were out of breath, and when they parted Greg beamed up at him in a way that made his insides melt.

“Now come on. Need to get dinner started. They should be there in…”

There was a rapid knock at the front door. Mycroft stiffened, and Greg smiled.

“Now, it seems.”

“Oh dear lord,” Mycroft sighed, feeling extremely nervous and hating every second of it.

“You. Will be. Fine,” Greg said pointedly. “Now come on. There are two girls on the other side of this door that are dying to fall in love with you too.”

Mycroft huffed, straightening his waistcoat and squaring his shoulders. No turning back, he supposed. It was time.


	58. Flying

Greg shifted in his seat nervously, attempting to pointedly not look out the window near him. Maybe he shouldn’t have sat near the window in the first place. After all, he and Mycroft did have full reign of the seating that was around them. That was the beauty of a private plane, after all. It was a very relaxed, intimate atmosphere, with sofas instead of lines of seats and reclining chairs. And a bar. That was a lovely addition. He could really use a drink.

Even though the atmosphere was relaxed, he was far from it. Not that Greg was intensely afraid of heights or anything, because he wasn’t. There was something about being in a plane, though, that made him immensely uneasy. Flying thousands of miles up in the air was an altitude man really shouldn’t be allowed to be at. They didn’t have wings and shit for a reason. Greg was just fine being on the ground, but his partner had insisted they take the plane for their vacation because it would be much quicker and easier than driving. He wasn’t denying that truth, of course, and it was how they ended up here.

Clenching the arm rests of his seat tightly, Greg tilted his head down and shut his eyes. As long as he didn’t think about it, didn’t look outside… But then there was the turbulence, and it jolted him a bit. He sighed, frowning.

“Gregory?” came the questioning, smooth voice of his other half. Reluctantly, he turned to look at Mycroft, knowing he’d see right through him. And of course he did. “Darling, it’s perfectly safe.”

“I know it is,” he huffed, crossing his arms tightly in front of him. “But still, it…”

Freaks me out. He didn’t finish the thought. He didn’t really need to. Before anything else could be said, Mycroft stood up and was walking over to him. Greg felt a surge of panic watching him move around the contraption so freely. Should he really be walking around?? It didn’t seem safe. Then, a slender arm was reaching out for him, requesting him to take his hand. Seriously? Greg did NOT want to get out of his seat. Nope. Not while this plane was moving. He stared at the offered hand, feeling a bit paralyzed.

“It’s alright, Gregory. Come here,” Mycroft said smoothly, reaching the rest of the way since the older man didn’t take his hand. He wrapped his slender fingers around Greg’s wrist and tugged gently, coaxing him reluctantly out of his seat. He all but clutched to Mycroft’s biceps once they’d stood, brown eyes wide. The politician just looked amused. “Come on.”

He turned and tugged Greg across the way, leading him over to one of the huge sofas that were sitting closer to the bar. Greg’s legs felt wobbly. He supposed that with as much travelling as Mycroft did for work, this was nothing to him. But he couldn’t stop from freaking out still. Eventually, though, he was gently pushed down onto the sofa, and Mycroft proceeded to climb onto his lap. Greg blinked, gazing up at him curiously.

“It seems what is required is something to take your mind off the travelling,” Mycroft said softly. His voice had changed; slipping into a deeper, smoother tone that Greg had become familiar with. He knew exactly what the younger man was doing.

“Trying to seduce me?” he asked with a grin. In response, Mycroft began slowly unbuttoning the front of his shirt. The smirk that got onto his face was one of confidence, and his pale eyes flashed.

“Oh, my dear Gregory, there is no trying involved,” he murmured, leaning and all but attacking Greg’s neck. He kissed and nipped the tan skin there, paying particular attention to his pulse point and collarbone. Greg’s weak points. He whimpered, gripping Mycroft’s sides and arching up against him.

He was right, there was no trying. Greg became Mycroft’s instantly, like he always did. The younger man was so good at doing that to him, and it was bloody glorious. Quickly, he became all too aware of the heat between them, and the way their hips grinded together and created glorious friction. He couldn’t get enough. Needed more.

Needless to say, he completely forgot they were flying.


	59. Hay Fever

It was fascinating the things one could develop in the later years of their lives. If, by fascinating, you meant that it sucked. Close to fifty, and Greg’s body had chosen now to give him hay fever. It was awful. For someone who had no seasonal allergies and a nose of steel for almost his entire life, getting hay fever was not something Greg was excited about at all.

It had been a confusing thing, when he first started exhibiting the symptoms. He thought he had been coming down with something, but none of what he was exhibiting lined up with any specific illness. His quick visit to the doctor proved negative on the realm of a virus or fever of any kind. One look at him, however, and his partner Mycroft knew exactly what was plaguing him.

“Welcome to the club,” the younger man had said sarcastically. Greg had just groaned. It was a noise he was prone to a lot here the past few days. He groaned, and whined, and couldn’t breathe, and felt over all awful and miserable and gross. He’d been unable to concentrate earlier that morning, while standing a crime scene, so he had bit the bullet and stopped by a Tesco on his lunch break before heading back to the Yard to pick up some medicine.

He’d taken the capsules while he ate his lunch, smiling at the reminder text he had received: Do not forget to take medicine. It will help to clear your head some. –MH. Now, he was just waiting for it to kick in, as he leaned over his desk and poured over case notes and paperwork scattered across the desk in front of him. He had his head propped up in his hand, pen held loosely in his other, lips parted slightly as he was having to breathe through his mouth and not his nose. He still couldn’t concentrate. He was hoping the meds would kick in soon…

After a little while, Sally Donovan returned from the crime scene they had been working that morning. She dropped a packet off at her desk without pausing, and then made her way over to her boss’s office. Swinging the door open, she popped her head in and glanced over at his desk.

“Sir, we need-“ she started, ready to get the next stage of the investigation under way, when the sight in front of her caused her to pause. Greg was slumped over his desk, head resting on his arms, mouth parted, and completely asleep. She blinked, remaining silent for a second, before taking a slow step into the office.

“Sir?” she asked. Greg didn’t stir. In fact, in response, he let out a rather audible snore. She blinked again, the snore causing her to jump a little bit, and she glanced over the desk. Near his coffee cup, she saw a medicine box sitting there, open. Walking over, she peered down at it, and then sighed and shook her head. It seemed that the Detective Inspector hadn’t paid attention to the kind of medicine he’d picked up for the hay fever he was fighting, and had definitely not gotten something that specified non-drowsy. No wonder he was passed out and practically drooling. Smiling softly, she shook her head again and turned to leave. In that exact moment, the door to his office opened again and the elder Holmes was walking in, umbrella and jacket draped across his arm. She froze and blinked, before opening her mouth to speak, but his sharp eyes shifted past her immediately to look at the man at the desk.

“Oh dear,” he said, striding into the room and over to the desk, glancing down at his snoring partner. “It seems I should have gotten the medication for him. I had rather hoped he would have paid attention and gotten the correct kind.”

Sally nodded politely at him, smiling, and walked past him to leave and take care of a follow up for the case, shutting the door behind her. Now alone in the office, Mycroft walked around to the back of the desk, moving to stand beside the sleeping man. Leaning over slightly, he reached out to place slender hands on Greg’s shoulders, and shake slightly.

“Come on Gregory, wake up. We’re going home.” His first response had been a snore. Smiling patiently, he leaned in closer to kiss the man’s cheek, before speaking softly again. Finally, Greg began to stir, and ended up blinking up at him with unfocused, sleepy eyes.

“Myc?” he asked groggily, brow furrowing in confusion. He sniffed, winkling his nose and blinking, before scrubbing at his face with one hand.

“We’re going home, darling. You need proper rest. In our bed. Come on.”

Slowly, Greg allowed Mycroft to guide him out of his chair. The next thing he knew, they were riding in a car, and Greg was stretched out with his head on the younger man’s lap. Slender fingers were running through his hair, soothing him back to sleep instantly. Then, he was in bed. It was nice, but also frustrating. How people dealt with hay fever their whole lives he’d never know. 

At least he had a wonderful boyfriend who was one of those people who’d dealt with it his whole life. He proved to be of great assistance, and Greg remained mostly quiet as he let himself be looked after.


	60. Date Day

Mycroft couldn’t recall the last time he and Gregory had experienced such a relaxing day. Neither man had anything pressing at hand in their respective jobs, so for the first time in a while, they decided to have a Date Day (Gregory’s words, not his). They had stayed in bed a few hours later than they were used to, which Mycroft had to admit, had felt rather bizarre and made him a bit restless. Their resting had taken a more intimate turn, however, so it was soon forgotten about.

After their joint shower and a light breakfast, the two of them got dressed and took the car down to the main shopping center in London. They had nowhere they needed to be, no goals for their trip, so they spent a majority of their time just leisurely walking down the roads and gazing into shoppes. Occasionally, they would wander inside one that caught one of their eyes curiously, and in a few they had made some small purchases, but they would never remain for long.

Hunger got the better of them after a while, and they stepped into a small bakery to take a rest and satisfy their need for food. They talked softly over sandwiches and tea, and halfway through Gregory reached out to thread their fingers together loosely. Public affection was scarce between them; professional appearances and all. It seemed that Mycroft had decided, as their relationship progressed, that he was becoming more relaxed on that front, so he squeezed Gregory’s hand gently and remained there the rest of the time they sat and ate.

After lunch, they wandered around some more, making their way to a park. As they walked, they grew closer to one another, shoulders brushing together lightly. It was truly a perfect day to be out and about. The sun was out, and it was warm, but a gentle breeze kept it from getting too warm. Gregory stared fondly at the families that were out playing, at the children laughing and running around, and Mycroft through to himself. Gregory was an amazing father, as he’d had the pleasure to see with his two daughters that he shared with his ex wife. Daughters that, due to divorce agreements, he was unable to see very often.

“You miss it,” he said softly in observation, drawing the older man’s attention. Together, they made their way over to a bench and sat, thighs touching. Gregory glanced back at the children before nodding slightly.

“Yeah, I suppose I do,” he admitted after a moment. Stretching his arms around, he rested them on the back of the bench and brushed his fingers along Mycroft’s shoulder gently. In response, Mycroft smiled and shifted a bit closer so they were leaning against one another.

“Being a father, having a family, suits you. Always has,” Mycroft continued. It had been something he’d been thinking about for a while. He had been thinking… 

“What’s brought this on?” Gregory asked softly, turning to give his partner his full attention. Mycroft felt a fluster of nervousness as their eyes locked, and he licked his bottom lip as he decided how to go about it. Mycroft was never one to express his own desires. How does one word himself without sounding selfish?

“I was thinking,” he started turning his pale gaze away from those brown eyes for a moment and glancing at the children. He thought of Elizabeth and Abby, Gregory’s daughters. He thought about the times they had when they came over and stayed at their house. “We have been together for a few years now. I would like… I would like to consider our options for starting a family of our own.”

Gregory stared. He stared and he was quiet. Mycroft started to get a bit nervous, found that he was second guessing himself, and he shifted where he was sitting. Not good? Sure, he was much better at social cues than his ridiculous younger brother, but he found that when it came to his other half, he wasn’t so sure.

“You want…to have a kid?” he finally asked after a moment, still blinking. Mycroft pressed his lips in a thin line and looked away.

“We don’t have to, I just thought…” he started, huffing slightly. He was cut short, however, as Gregory cupped under his chin and forced his gaze back on him. Their lips connected instantly in a loving kiss, and Mycroft let out a soft noise of surprise at the action before returning the kiss.

“I’d love to,” Gregory whispered after breaking the kiss. His eyes were wide and shining, and Mycroft felt his heart skip a beat. “We can… We can ask my sis, yeah? See if she wouldn’t mind helping, maybe carry ‘im for us.”

“I was thinking adoption, but,” Mycroft started, pausing and considering those words. How he hadn’t thought of that before made him feel foolish. It was the most logical option and it would ensure that the child still had the genes of them both. If dear Emily would agree to carry the child, of course. He smiled. “But that would be lovely.”

They shared another kiss, and Mycroft found himself getting excited over the prospect. After a while they left the park and continued the rest of their relaxing day, wandering through more of London before making their way back home. Their conversations, however, had turned to a very specific topic. They were to have a child together. Mycroft had no experience with real small children outside of his life growing up with Sherlock, but he still found himself eager for the opportunity. It was bound to change their lives in an amazing way.

He couldn’t wait.


	61. Becoming A Family

Mycroft never believed that he would become a father. He had been a large part in raising Sherlock when he was younger, but that was an entirely different situation. But a father… It was something that didn’t seem conceivable until he and Greg had sat down in the park one day, and the conversation had happened.

They had decided to ask Greg’s little sister, Emily, to be their surrogate. This gave the two men the opportunity to have a child that had both Lestrade and Holmes DNA. It was an opportunity that was more rare in same sex couples, in Mycroft’s experience, and it was something they had been lucky to take advantage of. Emily had, of course, been more than eager to assist them in this task.

Time had flown by throughout the duration of Emily’s pregnancy, and before Mycroft and Greg knew it, they were gifted with a son. Oliver Lucas Lestrade-Holmes was brought into the world, and soon became the center of both of theirs. Greg had two daughters from his previous marriage, so having an infant in his life was nothing new. To Mycroft, however, it had frankly been terrifying. For weeks he hadn’t wanted to even hold his son; not for any cruel or distant reason, but frankly because he was immensely nervous handling a human being that was that small. The night Greg had passed him over, though, and helped to guide his arms and hands in the proper direction to cradle Oliver, it was all over. 

Oliver grew fast. Greg had dropped his workload considerably (much to Sherlock’s constant chagrin), and stayed home with him the majority of the time. Mycroft had lessened his responsibilities as well, and Anthea had played a huge part in that, but he still had to go to the office a lot more than the other man. The British Government, even in a position as minor as his, was not so easy to find replacements for his type of job. No longer did he have to go out of the country for extended periods of time, however, and apart from the occasional weekend, he was home Saturdays and Sundays. It had been an amazing shift in not only their family, but he and Greg’s intimate life as well. Everything was working out for the better.

As he came home that evening from a long day of exhaustive meetings, he was surprised to find the house…quiet. Their home was never quiet anymore, and it made him pause at the coat rack curiously. Greg usually told him when they were going out anywhere, and his vehicle was home, so they had to be here… Across in the sitting room, he could hear something on the telly, though it was turned down rather low. It was a good place to start, at the very least. Hanging up his coat and setting down his briefcase, he strode down the hall in that direction.

The sight he walked in on in the sitting room made him stop short and stare. The two men in his life he adored more than anything were on the sofa, and they were both… completely passed out. Greg was lying on his back, legs crossed loosely as he stretched across the entire length of the sofa. He had on black slacks and no shirt, with one arm hanging off the sofa, hand resting on the floor. His other hand was up on Oliver’s back, who was sprawled out on his father’s chest. The eight-month-old was on his stomach, cheek pressed against Greg’s bare chest and small mouth parted slightly. One of his little hands was balled in a fist and glistened with the drool it was covered in. It was clear the child had fallen asleep with his fist in his mouth, and it had slipped out as he fell deeper asleep.

Mycroft smiled, utterly smitten with the sight. He was unable to resist pulling out his mobile and taking a picture, before quietly making his way over towards them. Dear Oliver had begun teething a month prior, so he had been doing quite a good job at keeping both his fathers up all night with him. The poor boy had been restless, refusing sleep and food, because he just hurt. It seemed that the exhaustion had caught up with them both today.

Crouching down, he reached out and ran his slender fingers through Greg’s silvery hair. The older man stirred slightly, brow furrowing in confusion and brown eyes fluttering open sleepily. He smiled as he registered Mycroft beside him, biting back a yawn and shifting very carefully.

“Hey,” he whispered groggily. Mycroft smiled in adoration at him. “Ollie finally got tuckered out.”

“I see that,” he responded in kind, eyes shifting to glance at their sleeping son without stopping the soothing strokes to Greg’s hair.

“Got ‘im to eat a bit around lunch time,” Greg reported, splaying out his hand along Oliver’s back securely as the boy shifted in his sleep. He sighed, letting out a little noise that shot right into both men’s hearts. Mycroft had never known a more adorable baby, and it didn’t matter that he was slightly biased.

“Good. We’ll try for dinner in a while. Perhaps he’ll get a full night’s rest this evening.”

“One can hope,” Greg snorted, yawning. The movement caused Oliver to shift again, his little brow furrowing a bit as he unclenched and clenched his fist again. Mycroft reached down to gently brush a strand of jet-black hair out of his face, and then rubbed his thumb across a chubby cheek.

“For now, we’ll let him sleep a bit longer.” Normally they would want him awake so he could actually sleep that night, but with as little sleep as he was getting during the teething process, any sleep was good sleep. Leaning in, he pressed a loving kiss to Greg’s forehead, who smiled and hummed softly.

“Have a good day?” the older man asked. Mycroft sighed.

“It was to be expected. It is better now that I’m home, with you and Oliver. I’m going to go make some tea. Then we’ll see about his dinner.” He pressed another kiss to Greg’s forehead before standing, gazing fondly at their sleeping child, and heading towards the kitchen for his tea.


	62. Dancing Lessons

This was rather embarrassing. Greg had been torn about even approaching Sherlock about this, and once he’d decided he was going to, he dreaded actually going over to Baker Street and having the conversation. He started to put it off for as long as he could, but finally, he had to bite the bullet and go for it.

This was how he ended up in the sitting room of Baker Street in the middle of the day, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, as Sherlock was moving around furniture to give them a more open space. John was at the clinic, so they were alone, thankfully. This was going to be bizarre enough on its own.

“I still don’t quite understand,” Sherlock was admitting, glancing over at him curiously. “You’ve been married before, how is it you don’t know how to dance?”

“It was… not that great of a dance,” Greg huffed, crossing his arms defensively over his chest and staring at the skull hanging on the wall. He’d been absolutely rubbish at it and his wife had led the entire time. He knew people had only been nice about it because it was his wedding day.

“Well, it’s honestly not that difficult,” Sherlock said, finishing his adjustments with the coffee table and then walking over to where he had an iPod dock set up on his desk. Greg was a little surprised he wasn’t giving him more shit about the entire situation. But he knew the detective really loved dancing, so… Perhaps that was why. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d appreciated John’s tipsy admissions more. “Take your shoes off and get over here.”

Greg nodded, toeing his shoes off and walking over to where Sherlock was standing. He squared his shoulders and allowed the younger man to grab his arms and position them appropriately, one wrapped around his torso and the other in his hand. Behind them, slow music began playing, and Sherlock nodded slightly before starting to move.

They stepped, and Greg stumbled a few times, but overall it wasn’t a huge disaster. Sherlock was muttering through it almost constantly, instructing him this way and that. They did this throughout the length of the song until it faded out.

“Now this time, you’re going to lead,” Sherlock commented, moving to restart the song. “It is most likely my brother will lead, because he’s a control freak like that, but just in case, we need to get you at least sub par.”

Greg opened his mouth to complain at the casual Sherlockian insult, but he knew he was right so he remained quiet. Instead, he just nodded. This time, his hand was shifted down to rest along Sherlock’s waist, and their joined hands shifted some before joining again. The music started. Sherlock muttered to him to take the first step, and after a moment of hesitation, he did so.

They switched back and fourth a few times, and after a while, Greg started to feel a lot better about the entire situation. He was getting more comfortable with the movements, taking a few liberties (some that were agreeable, others that got him Sherlock’s normal ‘you can’t honestly be serious’ face), and trying a few new things at the younger man’s suggestion. It was surprisingly fun. It was also a fascinating side of Sherlock he was seeing. John had been right when he said the detective liked dancing. They were actually laughing together, and it was rare to see Sherlock so jovial when John wasn’t around (and even then it was still rare).

It was in that moment that Sherlock heard footsteps on the stairs. He glanced over Greg’s shoulder and his smile faded almost instantly, halting them. Greg blinked in confusion and turned to look over to see Mycroft standing behind them, an envelope in his hand. The politician was standing straight, face practically blank, but there was something there Greg could read that caused him to let his mouth drop open to talk and step away from the younger Holmes.

“Apologies for the interruption,” Mycroft said icily. “I was stopping by to bring you information on this case, Sherlock. I’ll just leave it in the kitchen and be on my way.”

Mycroft spun on his heel and moved to walk into the kitchen, dropping the file loudly and then leaving. Sherlock snorted, turning off the music and dropping into his chair. Greg sighed.

“Mycroft,” he called out, going after him. It didn’t matter that he didn’t have shoes on, as he started to make his way down the stairs. Just barely did he catch the other man’s elbow before he’d walked out onto the street and tugged him back.

“Gregory, I need to get back to work. Do let go,” he commanded without turning around. Greg sighed and stepped forward to press against him, wrapping his arms around the taller man’s waist.

“Stop being ridiculous,” he whispered, hugging him tightly. “What you saw was absolutely nothing.”

“What I saw was you dancing with my brother.”

Sighing, Greg grabbed Mycroft and turned him around so they were facing each other. He reached up to cup his cheek, gazing into his eyes.

“He was teaching me,” he admitted, feeling heat rising in his cheeks. Mycroft blinked, beginning to follow his train of thought. Greg could see the slight realization dawning in his eyes.

“Yes,” Greg nodded, smiling. “I’m a doofus who doesn’t know how to dance. I wanted to learn, before we… Well. I wanted to be good at something.”

“You are good at many things,” Mycroft whispered, his voice loosing its ice and growing very affectionate. Leaning in, he connected their lips in a brief kiss. “My apologies for creating a scene.”

“You didn’t create a scene,” Greg huffed a laugh against his lips. He reached and took Mycroft’s hand, threading their fingers together and squeezing. “You have time for lunch before you have to go back to the office?”

“Yes, I suppose we can squeeze something in,” Mycroft smiled, kissing him again. Greg ran back to get his shoes, and together they walked out onto the pavement.


	63. Tea With The Queen

Greg relaxed in the back of the car that was currently taking him from the Yard, to what appeared to be Buckingham Palace. Yes, that thought was confirmed a little bit later as they pulled up in front of the palace and the door was opened for him to step out. He did so, straightening his coat and sighing to himself, before wandering inside behind a silent escort.

He hadn’t gotten a notice about a new security check, but those did tend to crop up out of nowhere sometimes. That was kind of the point about security checks, really. If there was no time to prepare for them, there was no time to fabricate anything. He was grateful to get pulled away from the paperwork, anyway.

He was led to a room with two couches and four chairs surrounding a large coffee table. The quiet man gestured to the seating, and he nodded and sat on one side of the couch. The man left without another word, leaving him alone in the eerily quiet room. Shifting he glanced around warily. This was not normally the kind of setting these checks took place in, nor was he ever made to wait on his own like this. It was… kind of bizarre.

He was alone in the room for about ten minutes or so, before a different man walked in. He blinked, glancing over at him and taking in his crisp suit, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth the Second,” the man announced, stepping to the side of the doorway. Greg froze. What?? He wasn’t lying, however, because moments later the Queen herself was walking into the room. Greg was up on his feet faster than he thought he could move anymore, and tilting his torso in a respected bow. His heart was pounding. This was definitely no ordinary security check. What was happening?

“Please, do sir Detective Inspector,” she addressed him politely, making her way over to him and sitting in one of the chairs. He nodded dumbly, moving to sit back down and trying not to let his jaw drop. He was in the presence of the Queen. Sitting right next to her. He watched, dead silent, as she requested the man to bring them tea. It was also the fastest prepared tea he’d ever witnessed. That, or he was still so dumbfounded that everything was blurring together. Before he knew what was happening, there was a cup and saucer in his hand, and he was having tea with the Queen.

The thought didn’t sound right, no matter how often he thought it. He was having tea with the Queen.

“Do you know why I have brought you here today, Inspector?” she asked civilly after a few moments. Greg blinked, setting his cup down, and shaking his head.

“I have to admit, ma’am, I do not. To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked. His heart was beating so fast he thought he was going to forget how to breathe.

“I wanted to discuss the nature of your relationship with Mycroft Holmes,” the royal woman began to explain. Greg had to force his jaw to remain closed again. He also had to keep himself from chuckling at the statement. It sounded ridiculously like Mycroft had the first time he had basically kidnapped and interrogated him about his involvement with Sherlock. It was kind of hilarious.

“Our relationship, ma’am?” he inquired, making sure he understood her correctly. So his partner did know the Queen personally. How else could this conversation be explained?

“Indeed. It has come to my attention the two of you are going to be getting married in a matter of weeks,” she explained, sipping on her tea elegantly. Greg blinked, but said nothing. He nodded, which prompted her to continue her thought. “While I am aware of the good work you do for this city, we have never met in person. I wanted to make sure that you were the right man for him.”

Wait. Was the Queen really interrogating him? Yeah. She was most definitely examining him before he and Mycroft got married. It was such… a motherly thing to do. He had no idea the two of them were this close. After all, the Queen wouldn’t just have this conversation with the soon-to-be-spouse of anyone in the British Government. He couldn’t imagine so, anyway.

“I love Mycroft very much, Your Majesty,” he said, smiling. “He has changed my life very much for the better, and I am reminded every day just how lucky I am to have him.”

As he spoke, he saw her begin to smile over her teacup. That was a good sign. It eased his nerves slightly. With momentary pauses, and a refill on both their teas, they continued to talk about Mycroft, and their relationship. Then, she moved on to discuss some things with their wedding. It ended up becoming quite a comfortable, lovely visit.

It was also one of the most bizarre days Greg had ever had in his life.


	64. Scars

“This one’s from the man who kidnapped Sherlock, right?” Mycroft asked softly one night. Greg was lying on his back, eyes closed as they relaxed in bed together. They were relaxing post-sex, letting the soothing high of it all wash over them.

“Hmm?” he hummed, lifting his head a bit. He could feel Mycroft’s fingertips running lightly across his ribs, and realization dawned on him. “Oh, yeah. The knife he carried.”

Mycroft didn’t respond. Instead, his fingers kept running back and fourth over the scar that had marked his tan skin. Greg could still remember that night rather vividly. Sherlock’s kidnapped had been light on his feet, getting into Greg’s personal space quicker than he could react, brandishing a jagged knife and stabbing him. It had put him in the hospital for almost a week and given him stiches, and had marked him very permanently. Not a fun experience.

After a moment, Mycroft was nudging his shoulder. Complying, Greg shifted, rolling to lie on his back instead. He watched as the younger man’s sharp eyes gazed over his torso, fingers following, to a scar on his bicep.

“And this was a bullet wound,” he muttered. Greg nodded, glancing as his lover traced it as well. That had happened on one of his first intense cases, ending in chasing a perp they didn’t know was concealing a gun. He’d caught sight of it at the last second, diving out of the way enough that it just scraped his bicep instead of almost hitting him square in the chest. Mycroft moved on.

“This one?” he asked, brow furrowing, as he traced a line right above his eyebrow. Greg couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Rugby match when I was seventeen. My best mate was rubbish at aiming, and I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He rolled his eyes. That was definitely the most ridiculous of the markings he carried with him.

Mycroft examined and lightly touched two more scars that were results of bullet wounds: one on his thigh and the other on his stomach. Next was one on his palm from where anger had gotten the better of him and he’d shattered a drinking glass by slamming it down too hard on his desk. He remained quiet, apart from the small conversations that came along with each marking, intently observing the younger man’s face during it all.

“What’s wrong?” he finally asked, tilting his head sideways. Mycroft sighed through his nose.

“The human body is terribly fragile,” he commented, not quite answering the question. Stroking Greg’s chest, he lowered his head onto the pillow with a soft frown on his face. Greg shifted his body a bit so they were facing each other more, wrapping his arms around him.

“Perhaps. But I’m incredibly lucky, too,” he commented, throwing on a smile. It surprised him how bothered he seemed to be by Greg’s scarring.

“Naturally, and for that I am grateful,” Mycroft said. “However, that doesn’t change the fact that these are indications of more than one time that I could have lost you, some before I ever got the chance to know you.”

Greg’s brown eyes softened immensely. So that was what was really bothering him. He rubbed Mycroft’s back soothingly, leaning to kiss his forehead.

“But they didn’t,” he whispered. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Mycroft shut his eyes, letting his long arm snake around Greg’s waist as he curled into his side.

“It is a foolish train of thought, and pointless. Because you are, as you say. You are right here. My apologies if I killed the mood.”

Greg hugged his lover tightly, nuzzling into his hair and smiling.

“You didn’t,” he reassured Mycroft. “There’s nothing for you to apologize for. I’d be the same if they were on your body. It happens when you’re in love.”

“I would very much appreciate it if you did not acquire any more, Gregory,” Mycroft said softly, almost fragile. Very uncharacteristic of him, and something that only ever happened in privacy like this.

“I would as well,” Greg agreed, reaching up to stroke Mycroft’s hair. “And don’t worry. I’ll do my best not to.”

He couldn’t promise he never would again. Being a Detective Inspector had the chance to be dangerous. At least now he had even more of a drive not to get injured.


	65. Anniversary Dinner

When Greg arrived at the restaurant Mycroft had sent him the address to, he stood there and gaped. He stood there and gaped while a bloody valet boy drove his car to be parked. When he finally forced himself to move and got inside the restaurant, he gaped again. Christ the place was gorgeous. It was huge, and intimidating, and it felt expensive just standing at the entrance. Never in his entire life had Greg stepped foot in a place like this, and his instinct told him to turn right around and leave again. 

Greg was not a poor man. He had never grown up in a poor lifestyle. His home life had been comfortable, and sensible. He had been much luckier than many other kids he’d grown up with. But he wasn’t rich. Standing in this place that he was now… It didn’t feel like he belonged. Nervously, he glanced around. He was meeting Mycroft here, but he had no idea where his partner was in the establishment. It was huge, and lord knows he couldn’t be seen wandering around.

“Mr. Lestrade?” came a voice to his left. Blinking, Greg turned to see who had addressed him. It looked to be a waiter, who was waiting expectantly for him. He tried not to feel super embarrassed. Was he really that obvious?

“Yes?” he asked, shifting slightly.

“Please allow me to show you to your table. Mr. Holmes is waiting. May I take your coat?”

With a soft nod, Greg let his coat slip off his shoulders and pulled his mobile out of it before handing it over to the boy. Said boy bowed his head briefly before turning, and motioning for Greg to follow. He did, keeping his eyes forward to wander through the tables, listening to the calm chatter of other people that were dining. Finally, they came to a stop and he blinked, glancing around the boy to see his wonderful husband seated at a table. He smiled politely, and Greg’s seat was pulled out for him. He sat, nodding his thanks.

“Thank you, Jeremy,” Mycroft was saying. The boy bowed, handed Greg a menu, and departed. Greg let himself slump slightly, glancing down at the menu.

“I trust your day was alright, darling?” Mycroft was asking. Greg was briefly distracted by the fact that the menu had no prices on it. Good lord that wasn’t a good sign. He blinked, before glancing up at the younger man.

“Uh, yeah,” he smiled, setting the menu down and turning his attention to him. “Jeremy?”

“I am well acquainted with all members of the staff here,” Mycroft smirked. Of course he was. Greg was convinced there was no one in London his husband wasn’t acquainted with in some form.

“How was your day?” Greg asked in response, moving on.

“It was as to be expected.”

Greg reached and picked up a glass of wine, swirling it slightly and taking a sip. It was good. Mycroft was looking at him in an extremely amused way, his blue eyes shining.

“What?” he asked, feeling self-conscious. Mycroft chuckled.

“Do relax, darling. You belong here just as much as I,” he said knowingly, folding his hands on the table in front of him.

“There’s no prices on this menu,” Greg pointed out, taking another drink. Mycroft nodded.

“There is not. Don’t worry about price, dear. Just find something that sounds delicious.”

“Don’t worry about price?” Greg blinked. “Myc, I bet a dinner here costs more than my paycheck.”

“Of course, don’t worry. This is my treat.”

“Oh no. No, I can’t let you do that…” Greg sighed, waving a hand in front of him.

“Nonsense, Gregory,” Mycroft said dismissively. He gave the older man that pointed look that let him know he was losing this one. “It is our anniversary, dear. This is one of my gifts to you.”

Greg blushed, glancing down at his wine. It was true, he hadn’t expected their first wedding anniversary to be spent at a place like this. He couldn’t help but feel a bit doted on, though, and in a way… It was nice. He smiled, taking another drink, before leaning over and taking another look at his menu again.

“So. What’s good here?” he asked, grinning.


	66. Attempt At Comfort

Greg couldn’t get in a better mindset. Christ. Never in his life would he have figured Sherlock Holmes to commit suicide. But there they were… He had jumped off St. Bart’s, pronounced dead an hour later, and there was a funeral service being arranged. He was floored. He was having an immensely difficult time to adjust to the chain of events, which was being even more difficult because the press wasn’t leaving him alone about it.

He’d barely seen John. Oh John. He couldn’t even imagine how the doctor was handling it. He’d been there. He’d seen him… Greg couldn’t begin to imagine how something like that must have felt. Had the roles been reversed, and he had witnessed something like that with Mycroft… The mere thought of it made it difficult for him to breathe.

Speaking of, he was on his way over to Mycroft’s currently. He’d barely had a chance to see his boyfriend since it had happened, with everything he’d been swarmed with. He knew Mycroft was arranging the funeral, because who else could? 

“Mycroft?” he called out as he entered the politician’s home. No response. Greg sighed through his nose and stepped inside, hanging up his coat and beginning to walk though in search of him. Finally, he found the man in his study. He was staring over papers with a cup of tea in his hands. Greg’s brown eyes softened as he made his way over.

“Hey,” he whispered, reaching out to squeeze Mycroft’s shoulder gently. It was only then that pale blue eyes were raised to meet his. Greg had expected something different than what he saw. Mycroft might not be an over emotional person, but he let his guard down around Greg. He knew how much the older Holmes really did love his brother. Yet… he seemed perfectly fine.

“Gregory, what brings you by?” he asked, voice even. He set his teacup down and turned in his chair so they were better facing each other. On the desk was a series of newspapers reporting Sherlock’s suicide, and more documents that he spotted both Sherlock and Moriarty’s names on. Greg blinked.

“Coming to check on you. With everything that’s happened… You okay?” he asked leaning down to press a kiss to Mycroft’s forehead. The younger man hummed and shut his eyes briefly, before nodding.

“I am fine. Really,” he added as Greg gave him a slightly skeptical look.

“I just… I know with everything with Sherlock…” he started, shifting his weight. It was still difficult for him to actually speak about it. He sighed and glanced down, shutting his eyes for a moment.

Mycroft said nothing, but instead reached out with slender arms and tugged Greg close, pulling him down on his lap. Greg opened his eyes again in shock, but moved to wrap his arms around his partner’s neck and lean close.

“Everything will be fine,” Mycroft said, rubbing Greg’s back. Licking his lips, Greg pressed his face in the crook of his pale, slender neck, shutting his eyes again. What felt like an unsettling, raging war inside of him (anger, sorrow, grief, blame), began to calm. Before long, his body was slumped against Mycroft’s taller one.

“How is it,” Greg said finally, voice cracking. “That I come here to comfort you and end up getting comforted myself?”

“It is just the way things occur,” Mycroft said, a slight tone of amusement in his voice. Greg lifted his head and they shared a gentle kiss, pressing closer to each other. He hummed into it, running his fingers through the younger man’s silky hair.

“Would you be able to stay tonight?” Mycroft asked, brushing the tips of their noses together. Greg nodded.

“Yeah. I don’t need to go home for anything.”

“There are a few things I need to set up for the funeral, and then perhaps we can have dinner.”

Greg nodded. Dinner sounded great. Staying with Mycroft would make him feel better. It already was. And perhaps, if the occasion rose, he’d be able to finally offer the same comfort and companionship he had planned on offering as he’d first stepped into the door. Mycroft was an enigma that Greg was still trying to sort through, but no matter what, he would be there for the older Holmes through this difficult time.


	67. Ever The Matchmaker

The first time Mycroft had received a call that his baby brother had been arrested, he had been far from surprised. Sherlock, in his infinite boredom, had decided that cocaine was the only fascinating thing in his life, and to say he had become an addict was a kind way of putting it. So he excused himself from a not-so-important meeting and made his way down to New Scotland Yard to bail him out.

The arresting officer had been Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. Apparently, Sherlock had wandered onto his crime scene high as a kite (the Inspector’s words, not Mycroft’s own), and had deduced everything about him, his Sergeant, and the body. Unsurprising. Mycroft kept up his formalities, bailed his addict of a brother, and took him home.

“You like him,” Sherlock said after almost an entire car ride of silence. Mycroft turned and regarded him with a raised eyebrow.

“I am sure I have no idea what you mean,” he said smoothly, making sure to look extremely uninterested. Sherlock snorted.

“You. Like. Him.”

“And you, brother mine, are high.”

The next time the good Detective Inspector called him, it was because Sherlock had been caught breaking and entering. Unlike other times where he very much broke the law, Lestrade had not been the first on the scene. As the politician stood in front of the DI, he pinched the bridge of his nose in his irritation, politely apologizing for his infuriating little brother taking up so much of his valuable time. The older man seemed to shrug it off, which in Mycroft’s opinion was much too forgiving, but… It was also endearing. Bowing his head again, he turned and practically drug Sherlock out by his ear.

“You like him so much, it’s ridiculous,” Sherlock was saying in the car. “It’s as clear as the nose on your face.”

“Dear lord, are you still high?”

“No,” Sherlock sniffed, tilting his chin up and crossing his arms. “I’ve been clean for months, Mycroft.”

That made him pause. Sherlock was…clean? He hadn’t heard of any transgressions in a while, but he hadn’t thought much of it. It all made sense now, though.

“Get bored with cocaine, finally?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“No, but Lestrade refuses to let me help with crime scenes if I’m using…” the younger Holmes mumbled, staring out of the window. Mycroft had to consciously think in order to not let his jaw drop. The Detective Inspector was the reason Sherlock was no longer using. That man was a lot more of an enigma than he had originally anticipated. Interesting.

It continued like this. Sherlock continued to get himself arrested, and Mycroft continued to show up and post his bail. It was exhausting. However, as irritating as it was, Sherlock was right. Mycroft did like DI Lestrade. The man was fascinating, and while he looked up a bit and could look up more, he found he didn’t want to. For once in his life, he wanted to find out from the other man, not from his files. 

So each time he came to bail Sherlock out, he and Lestrade talked. None of the conversations were usually anything of import, but that didn’t matter. Whether Mycroft already knew what the other man was going to talk about or not, he let him talk. His brown eyes were bright and sincere, and his grin was practically infectious. While he always kept a cool exterior, Mycroft felt giddy inside. It was ridiculous, but he did. Each time, Sherlock watched him smugly as they left, and each time, Mycroft pointedly ignored him.

“Look, I’m done. You bail him out,” came a phone call from a very irritated John Watson one day. Rolling his eyes at his ridiculous brother, but feeling a fluttering excitement inside of him, Mycroft made his way to the Yard.

“Ah, Mycroft,” came Lestrade’s warm greeting. “Wondered when you’d get here. How’s the chess game?”

“It is fine,” Mycroft smiled, leaning his elbows on the counter to fill out the bail forms he was all too acquainted with by this point. “What is he in for now?”

“Pissed off a copper who was already having a bad day,” the DI shrugged, leaning sideways on the counter next to him. Mycroft didn’t miss the way his hip jutted out slightly.

“Why am I not surprised…” Mycroft sighed. He paused in the paperwork, before glancing over at the older man and feeling a brave streak running through him. “You know, I have half a mind to leave him in there for a while.”

“Yeah?” Lestrade asked, raising his eyebrows in curious shock. “And do what?”

“Take you to lunch, perhaps?” he invited nonchalantly. The DI blinked, before breaking out in that huge grin that made Mycroft’s knees want to melt.

“That sounds like a great idea.”

“Where would you like to go, Detective Inspector?” Mycroft asked, abandoning the paperwork and pushing off the counter.

“Please. Call me Greg,” he said, before shrugging. “I’m up for wherever.”

“Very well, Gregory. Follow me.”


	68. I Miss You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teen AU

Eton was exactly what Mycroft had expected it to be. He was taking the most advanced courses available to him, even though he was just in his first year, and he spent his evenings studying even though it wasn’t actually necessary. Half a year had gone by and he had already made essential connections and was assisting professors in building lesson plans and study guides.

The biggest issue, with as busy as he had become, was that he barely had time to leave the campus. He had no social life to speak of, which was of course fine because it was something he had never cared for to begin with. More than that, however, was that he didn’t have time to go home. He was unable to visit with Sherlock. He was unable to see Gregory.

He missed his boyfriend dearly. They talked fairly frequently, of course, but he hadn’t seen the other teen since before Christmas, and even then, it had only been for a few days. Gregory was doing his own schooling in London; working on the beginnings of what he hoped became a fruitful career in police work. On top of that, he was working full time at a bar, which took a lot of his evenings. They both knew the distance would be frustrating when Mycroft was preparing to move away, but that didn’t make it any less difficult to deal with.

Done with his work for the evening, Mycroft changed out of his uniform, gathered up pajamas, and stepped in to take a quick shower. Clean and dressed, he headed over to his bed and sat down, glancing at the floor. Some days he missed his boyfriend more than others. Tonight was one of the more difficult ones. With a sigh, he pushed himself up again and went across the room to his dresser. He tugged open the top drawer and pulled out an oversized hoodie. He held it for a moment, rubbing the cotton material with his thumbs, before tugging it on over his head.

It was oversized. It wasn’t his, of course. Never in his life had he owned or worn a hoodie. This article of clothing belonged to Gregory. It was black and had the logo of a band he’d never heard before. It was something he had first worn when the two of them had been out on a date and got caught in the rain. They’d spent the evening at Gregory’s flat, up in his room to warm up. It had also been the first night they had made love. Mycroft ended up going home with the hoodie the following morning without even realizing it, and he proceeded to bring it with him to Eton.

He went back over to his bed and curled up, burrowing into the hoodie as much as he could. He tugged the hood on over his wet hair and shoved his nose in the opening, breathing deeply. It wasn’t as much as it was originally, but it still smelled like the punky teen he was so in love with. It warmed his heart, making it skip a beat and tingling his skin. He sighed in content.

It helped. He still missed Gregory dearly, but being surrounding in the warmth of his clothing (especially when it held such sentimental value, something he had started to understand) eased the hole inside him. After a few moments, he reached over to pick up his mobile and send the boy in question a text.

I do hope your evening is going well. –MH

He closed his eyes as he waited, and a moment later, he got a return text.

Working the bar, so as good as it can be. Miss you. –G

Mycroft smiled, gazing at the words on the screen. He ran his thumb over the singular initial it was signed with. His thumb then flew across the keyboard quickly to reply.

I miss you as well. You should come visit soon, perhaps stay the weekend. –MH

That sounds fantastic, Myc. You can count on it. :) -G

Mycroft continued to smile, rereading the words a few times before saying his good nights. Plugging his mobile up to charge, he burrowed back into the hoodie and fell back into his thoughts of his boyfriend before letting sleep take him over.


	69. Bruising

Lord, that punch smarted. Greg sighed as he got back to his flat. His head (and more specifically, his eye) was throbbing like crazy. Good thing he had stuff in his freezer he could lay on it, because it was most definitely going to bruise if it hadn’t started to already.

Amazing how a calm night at the pub watching an Arsenal game could turn so crazy. Pub brawls happened all the time, of course. He’d broken up many before, and had been an on duty cop for them in the past, so he was no stranger to them at all. He couldn’t say, though, that he’d been one of the brawlers in quite a long time. He must’ve been no more than twenty the last time he’d been involved. He was getting too old for this shit.

He winced as he turned his kitchen light on. The brightness was sensitive on his pained eye. He sighed, closing them to give himself a moment to readjust, before heading over to his fridge. He dug around in the freezer until he found a bag of frozen corn that was just about perfect for the wound. Tugging it out, he made his way to the living room and collapsed on his sofa. Leaning his head back, he held the bag over his eye, closing them and letting the chill wash over him and start to numb the pain.

He had a date tomorrow, too, to top everything off. Bloody brilliant. He was a DI, sure, but this wasn’t work related and it was a bit ridiculous. Plus, the man he was going on a date with the most observant man in all of England, so there was no avoiding his piercing gaze or trying to fabricate a scenario. He sighed. Lovely.

What had started as a small bruise got very major the following day. He gaped at himself in the mirror in the morning as he’d gone to take a shower, staring at the dark red, purple, and black spot surrounding his left eye. The swelling had gone down some overnight, but it looked absolutely awful. Sighing, he shook his head and went about his day.

He found himself staring again later that evening as he waited for the black car to come pick him up. The swelling was completely gone by this point, after another dose of holding frozen stuff to his face, but the discoloration hadn’t lessened any. In a moment of panic, he began rummaging around his bathroom cabinets to try and find something, ANYTHING that might help make it look not so bad.

Finally, he found something. He was really desperate to be doing this, but… With a sigh, he pulled out the bottle of liquid foundation his oldest daughter had left over at his flat the last time she’d stayed over. He doubted there was any way he could get it completely covered, but if it helped any, he’d take it.

By the time the car arrived, he’d applied a good dose of foundation gently around his eye. It… sort of made a difference. The blacks and dark reds didn’t show up quite as brightly as they had before. It was the best he could do. Squaring his shoulders, he headed down and climbed in the car, moving to sit next to the man he was going on his date with and smiling sweetly.

“Hey Myc,” he greeted, his heart throbbing at the sight of him. Regardless of everything, he was excited to see the younger man. His smile was returned momentarily, before shock slipped onto Mycroft’s face.

“Good lord, Gregory, what happened to your face?” he asked, leaning over and reaching up to touch his cheek under the bruise. Pale eyes gazed at him, no doubt deducing everything.

“It’s, uh, it’s nothing,” he tried to evade, glancing down a bit. “It’ll be gone soon anyway.”

“Oh stop, Gregory. You just got it yesterday,” the politician hushed him, moving to stroke his silvery hair. “Foundation doesn’t cover it up enough for me to miss that.”

Of course it didn’t. Greg couldn’t have expected it to. With a sigh, he slumped against the seat with a shrug.

“It was a stupid bar fight after the game last night,” he admitted, knowing it was pointless to try and lie. He didn’t want to, anyway. Mycroft raised his eyebrow.

“I trust the bruise is the all of it?” he asked, both concerned and already knowing the answer. At this, Greg couldn’t help but break out into a proud grin and puff out his chest a bit.

“Oh yeah. Besides, you should see the other guy.”


	70. Snowy Encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this super cute fanart: http://zzigae.deviantart.com/art/Sherlock-Winter-mystrade-420472320

It was snowing. It wasn’t supposed to have started snowing, but there it was. Of course, it was happening on one of the only days Mycroft had elected to go for a stroll as opposed to taking his car after work. Umbrella open and above his head, he walked at a still leisurely pace down the road, passing shoppes and people that were still out and about. There were some children running around, laughing and playing and throwing snow at each other (that he was thankfully able to avoid).

It hadn’t been coincidence that caused him to take a longer route home. Oh no, not when he was walking past New Scotland Yard. He was drawn to that place, because he was drawn to the man who was so often inside of it. He gazed up at the still lit windows, wondering if Gregory Lestrade was still inside. The older man often worked late nights, much like Mycroft did, so it was likely. For a moment, he entertained the idea of slipping inside, perhaps taking him some coffee. He dismissed it easily, though. Sentiment was a dangerous road.

As he continued to walk, he glanced away and ahead of him once again. As he did, his heart skipped a beat as he refocused. He started to second guess himself, wondering if he was seeing things because he was thinking of the older man, but… No. That was definitely Gregory walking along in front of him. His silvery hair was dusted with snow, as was his shoulders and neck. His ears were turning a brighter shade of red. Mycroft smiled to himself and picked up his pace a little bit, and as he approached the Detective Inspector, he pulled his umbrella forward to cover the man.

The both stopped walking around the same time. No longer having snow falling on him, Greg blinked and glanced around in confusion. Tilting his head up, he saw the black umbrella over his head. Before he could turn around to see who it was, though, Mycroft was reaching up and gently brushing flakes of snow out of his hair. His cheeks were beginning to turn a shade of red close to that of his chilled nose, and finally, he turned.

“Mr. Holmes,” he blinked in shock. Mycroft’s hand hovered in the air, a bit flustered that he was caught in his act, but you couldn’t tell by looking at him. Clearing his throat, he lowered his hand and stuck it in the pocket of his coat, remaining to keep the umbrella over both of them.

“Good afternoon Detective Inspector,” he replied, bowing his head slightly. When he raised his eyes again, he saw a grin on Greg’s face that warmed him up inside. The man was ridiculously handsome. It was so frustrating how handsome he was, Mycroft wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Greg continued sticking both of his hands in his own pockets and gazing up at him. “Is there something going on?”

Mycroft blinked. It made sense, of course. Most of their encounters were business related (or more importantly, Sherlock related, most of the time), so of course it was their automatic association. It was the most logical thing of course, but there was something about it that was unsettling to the politician. It’s not the arrangement he desired for them. He wanted… more.

“No, nothing’s going on,” he admitted truthfully after a moment. He had noticed Greg starting to look at him curiously at their silence. “I was just in the neighborhood.”

“Oh, good,” Greg said, his smile widening and getting a bright look in his brown eyes. Mycroft blinked, raising an eyebrow slightly. “Means you have a free afternoon, yeah?”

Mycroft blinked again. A free afternoon… Surely Inspector Lestrade wasn’t thinking what he was insinuating.

“I… suppose,” he said, looking at the older man curiously. He shifted the umbrella, moving it a bit more to center around them as snow continued to fall. 

“Which means you could join me for coffee, yeah?”

C-coffee? Why on Earth was Gregory asking him out for coffee. Asking him… out. He could feel heat rising in his cheeks now, and he only hoped he could blame it on the chill if it were brought up.

“Come on, Mr. Holmes. Coffee on me. Let’s hang out without having to talk shop for once,” Greg was asking, a somewhat nervous and shy expression creeping onto his usually certain face. It was endearing. How could one say no?

“Alright,” he agreed, nodding. It would be good to get out of the cold. Would you classify this as a date? No, perhaps he was getting ahead of himself. “Lead the way, Gregory.”


	71. You Lied To Me

Greg needed more than a cigarette the night Sherlock bloody Holmes revealed himself in the dark parking garage. Calling him a bastard hadn’t been the half of it, and he was so angry and upset and freaked out at finding the detective was alive after all, but standing in front of him… All he could do was hug him. After all, above all else, he was so happy to see him he couldn’t stand it. It brought tears to his eyes and a grin to his face.

The anger started to emerge and become more prominent later, as he found himself making his way over to see Mycroft. Sherlock hadn’t stood and explained everything to him about what had happened, and Greg honestly didn’t want him to, but he was told enough and was smart enough to draw the lines together properly. 

He let himself in, as he’d been given a key (yet they hadn’t moved in together or anything yet), and huffed as he closed the door behind him. Frowning, he made his way through the house until he found the study that the younger man was currently resided in. Mycroft glanced up from the folders he was going through and opened his mouth to say something, but observed the look on Greg’s face and immediately deduced the nature of his mood.

“How dare you not tell me,” Greg all but growled, clenching his hands into tight fists. Hot tears of anger prickled at his eyes, but he controlled them and refused to let them fall. He didn’t need to elaborate, because they both knew exactly what he was talking about.

“It was for your own safety, Gregory,” Mycroft responded calmly, shutting the folder and crossing his legs, leaning back in his chair. He folded his hands together on the table and glanced at his boyfriend coolly.

“For my- Are you serious, Mycroft??” Greg all but shouted. He was trying to remain calm, but it just wasn’t happening. He couldn’t be calm. He was beyond upset. “I mourned so much. You saw how much I mourned. I tried to be there for you, to support you, because your fucking brother killed himself. Or so I thought. Do you realize how idiotic I feel now, trying to comfort you when you weren’t grieving because HE WASN’T DEAD?!”

Mycroft closed his eyes, sighing softly through his long nose. He remained silent throughout Greg’s talking, and let it sit for a beat of silence before opening his eyes to regard him again.

“It was not idiotic,” he commented. “Sherlock being dead or not, having you there for me meant the world to me. As such, I wanted to be there for you, even more so, because it was real for you. It had to be real for you. In order to keep you safe, you had to believe. Sherlock Holmes had to be dead. I apologize for my deceit only for the pain it is now causing you, but it was necessary, and given the circumstances I would do it all over again.”

Greg heard the words Mycroft was saying. He understood the words Mycroft was saying. It didn’t make him a bit less angry. He wasn’t thinking rationally, and it was a terrible trait of his, but there was nothing to be done about it.

“It’s still shitty, Mycroft. I can’t describe how it feels right now, to know that you have been lying to me for practically the entirety of our relationship. How am I supposed to just let this slide?”

“Honestly, Gregory, have you not listened to what I’ve been saying?” Mycroft asked, irritation slipping into his voice. “You’re overreacting, and if you would calm down and listen to me, we could avoid this entire pointless argument.”

“No, you do not get to get angry with me. Don’t you dare get angry with me, you don’t have the right,” Greg snapped, pointing at him. He shut his eyes, frowning, giving himself a moment before looking at the younger man again. Mycroft’s expression hadn’t changed one bit, nor had the man moved a millimeter, and that somehow just made him even angrier.

“You’re being irrational right now, Gregory, and-“

“NO. Stop,” Greg shouted louder, interrupting him. “Fucking stop, Mycroft. I am being just how I need to be right now. I need to go. I can’t… I can’t be in this room with you right now. I can’t even look at you.”

Greg turned on his heel, breathing heavily, and stormed out of the study. He walked towards the front door without hesitation, flung it open, and slammed it shut behind him as he stepped out into the London air. Mycroft hadn’t even called after him. Greg hadn’t really expected him to.

With shaky hands, he dug into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a cigarette. It took him three attempts and a lot of swearing to finally light it, and he took a long drag as he made his way to his car. He was so mad he didn’t know what to do with himself. Maybe once he calmed down, he could think differently and start dealing with the situation. For now, though… The mere thought of Mycroft Holmes made him want to punch a wall.


	72. Are We Okay?

“Another round, if you please,” Greg requested, raising a hand to get the bartender’s attention. The young man nodded to acknowledge the request, and went about filling up two more pints. The detective drained the rest of his glass ad set it away from him, before running a rough hand through his silvery hair.

“How is it that you…” he started after a moment, wrapping a hand around his new, cool glass as it was brought to him. “How can everything be okay again?”

“It’s not, though. Not really, not 100%,” came John’s answer, pulling his own new pint over and taking a drink. “You know how it was, Greg. How awful it was. But through all that… It is nice having him back again.”

Greg hummed, nodding a bit. It was nice having Sherlock back, most definitely. There had been tension between the two former flatmates, of course, but now they were working on the case together again and, for the most part, had fallen back into their normal flow. Greg, on the other hand, had barely talked with Mycroft since their fight a few weeks ago. He was still upset. On the other side, he missed the younger man, but… He was still upset. Closing his eyes, he sighed before taking another drink.

“You’re still fighting with Mycroft,” John commented softly. Greg opened his eyes again and glanced over at his mate, his brown eyes somewhat glossy.

“He just… He lied to me. It hurts.”

“I know,” John said seriously. “I know all too well, Greg, believe me. But think about it. Think about those two. They’re Holmeses. Take it from me though, mate. Don’t let too much more time pass. It’s even more important for you, because you’re dating one. Sherlock’s just…”

Greg gazed at John, listening to him, and raised an eyebrow as the doctor trailed off and stared at his drink. Just friends? Greg honestly still couldn’t quite believe that. Of course, he had a girlfriend now, and Mary was a sweet woman, but… That didn’t change what the two of them had been. The Detective and the Doctor; more than flat mates, more than friends, even if neither of them would ever admit it. John cleared his throat abruptly before continuing.

“You need to move on. Be pissed, of course. I’m still pissed as hell. But don’t let it keep you from him anymore, yeah? You’ll regret it later.”

Greg frowned, turning to stare at his pint again and sighed. Then, after a few moments, he pulled out his mobile to compose a new text.

/Hey, if England can spare you for an evening, would you meet me at mine later? -G/

*

Greg was standing out on the small balcony attached to his flat, door open behind him, and smoking a cigarette as he stared up at the darkened London sky. He had been in the kitchen for the better part of an hour making dinner; an authentic French assortment that his father had taught him years ago. It had been one of Mycroft’s favorite meals, and he’d hoped that it would help soothe the rift he had created between them.

John was right. He was still angry, mind, but he couldn’t let it take over their relationship. If they still had a relationship. For all he knew, Mycroft was fed up with him and only coming by to separate them for good. He sighed, focusing on his cigarette, and so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice he was no longer alone until the taller man was standing next to him.

“Hey Myc,” he blinked, straightening as he flicked off the ash that was attached. His heart ached, making him realize just how much he’d missed his boyfriend now that he was next to him again. He wanted to pull him close and kiss him, forget about dinner, and take him to bed.

“Gregory,” Mycroft nodded calmly. His pale eyes glanced at the cigarette in Greg’s hand and then out into the growing night.

“I, uh…” Greg started, trying to figure out what to say.

“You made dinner.”

Greg blinked again. Why was it that the younger man caused him to be so flustered that he would forget anything he’d been thinking and could no longer speak like a normal human being?

“I did,” he said after a moment, upon realizing that Mycroft was staring at him expectedly. “I was hoping that, uh…”

“So we’re alright then,” Mycroft stated. Greg licked his lips, before nodding slightly.

“Yeah… I’m sorry for getting so upset. I’m still mad, don’t get me wrong, but… I should’ve listened to you. I’ve missed you.”

Smiling slightly, Mycroft reached over to run slender fingers through Greg’s silver hair. The older man shut his eyes, focusing on the motion and sighing through his nose. He let himself drift closer to his boyfriend’s taller form, leaning into him as a long arm slid around his shoulders.

“I have missed you as well. I understand your anger. I am just glad to be here.”

“Stay?” Greg didn’t want Mycroft to leave. He wanted him to stay the night. He wanted to fall asleep in his boyfriend’s arms and know that everything would be okay.

“I’ll have Anthea bring some clothes by,” came Mycroft’s agreement, followed by a soft kiss to Greg’s head. He shut his eyes again, smiling and nuzzling the politician’s shoulder. “Now, why don’t we go eat what is bound to be an amazing dinner, before all your hard work goes cold, hmm?”


	73. You're Drunk

Mycroft should have been surprised when he received a text message from Greg Lestrade at almost 2 in the morning. He was not surprised, however, and honestly he was grateful. He knew that the older man had gone to the pub, and it seemed that he was a bit too drunk to drive himself home. For some reason, instead of just hailing a cab, he texted Mycroft instead, asking to be picked up. Being that he was already awake, it wasn’t a difficult request to fulfill.

He blinked, raising an eyebrow as the drunken man all but collapsed in the car next to him with a loud sigh. He was sporting a wide grin that made him look years younger, and Mycroft wondered if he was catching a glimpse of that carefree young man. It was strange, the feelings he had developed for the Detective Inspector. He didn’t make attachments like this, because people were tedious and awful to deal with. Greg, however, was very much the opposite.

“Thank you Mycroft,” the older man said, swaying slightly as he worked on sitting upright. Mycroft could tell how terribly drunk he was, but even still, he wasn’t slurring his words. It was impressive. He smiled softly at him.

“It was no inconvenience, Gregory,” he responded smoothly, folding his hands in his lap. “I am grateful you contacted me as opposed to anything that would end up a more dangerous situation.”

“S’why I called you,” Greg nodded, scooting closer. Mycroft did not miss how their knees were so close they were almost touching. He did not miss the man’s hand resting on the seat between them, fingers twitching slightly. He felt heat enter his cheeks, and glanced away to stare out the window to push that feeling back down.

“I wanted to see you.”

The whispered confession caused Mycroft to snap his head back around and stare at Greg with wide eyes. He wanted… His eyes widened even more as the hand between them slipped to rest on his thigh, slowly inching its’ way up. Mycroft could feel his heart rate increasing immensely, and an alarm went off inside his mind, but he found himself frozen where he sat.

Greg, however, was far from frozen. No, the drunken man leaned in, their bodies now pressing together, hand sliding up onto his stomach. The tip of his nose brushed along Mycroft’s jaw, and he could feel Greg’s warm breath hitting his skin. It sent a slightly foreign surge of arousal through him, heating up his entire body and making him hyper aware to the touches. 

This was far from good. It was everything he wanted, and everything he had found himself imagining at the most random and inappropriate of times, but it wasn’t good. Greg was drunk. Alcohol impaired a person’s judgment, and while sometimes it made the person more truthful, it mostly made them more susceptible to their first thoughts and instincts.

It was when Greg started kissing his jaw that Mycroft had to shift back slightly. It was affecting him much more than he wanted to admit, and he tried not to let it show. Greg blinked at him in slight confusion at the sudden distance between them.

“Gregory, you’re drunk,” Mycroft said in way of explanation. Very much stating the obvious, which was something he never did, but he didn’t care in this moment. He wanted nothing more than to have those wonderful, soft lips back on his skin, but he couldn’t. He would rather nothing happen ever than for Greg to initiate something he would regret.

“Yes, but all it’s done was give me the courage I haven’t had for ages,” Greg said slowly, running his hand up Mycroft’s chest. “I want you.”

Mycroft felt even more heat flooding into him. He wanted… 

“No, Gregory, that’s just the alcohol talking,” he muttered. He couldn’t entertain this. He couldn’t allow this to happen. He wanted it so bad, but he could not take advantage of the Detective Inspector’s drunken state.

“It’s not,” Greg insisted, leaning in again. The hand that had been running up Mycroft’s chest reached out to touch his face and turn his head so that they were staring at one another. “Now kiss me.”

Mycroft stared into those big brown eyes, and he could feel a bit of his resolve starting to crumble. His pale eyes flicked down to Greg’s lips just in time to sleep his tongue slip out to wet them. The tightening in his trousers was practically embarrassing now.

Greg was pulling him close, and Mycroft found himself unable to stop it anymore. He gave in, and their lips touched, and it was the best feeling in the world.


	74. Welcome Home

Greg was eager; there was no way around it. His darling other half had been away at a huge business convention involving different nations, and it had lasted for almost three whole weeks. It drove him crazy when Mycroft was away for so long. The biggest problem was always the fact that they had limited contact during these meetings. The younger man was so busy that they commonly could only talk every two or three nights, and never for very long. It was frustrating.

The call he’d gotten that morning, however, was one of a much more exciting nature. Mycroft was finally coming home. Right after the call he’d received his boyfriend’s itinerary, and according to everything, he should be arriving at his flat sometime within the hour.

It was a bit too late to actually make dinner, but Greg wanted to have something ready to greet him with. He’d thought about it all day, entertaining the idea of baking some sort of sweet. He’d never decided on something for sure, though, so he tossed the idea back a bit and tried to think of something else. Once it finally dawned on him, it had seemed like quite the no brainer.

In the sitting room, he got a fire started, and pulled out one of their large blankets. It was very fluffy and one they used most often when they relaxed in the sitting room. While he did all this, he had a bottle of wine in the chiller that they could share once he was home. He smiled to himself as he moved around, keeping an eye on the time and on his mobile.

Finally, after almost two hours, Mycroft arrived home. Greg all but rushed to meet him at the door with a big grin on his face; tugging the taller man close and pulling him in for a kiss so quickly he’d barely been able to hang his jacket up. Mycroft made a small noise of surprise, before wrapping his arms around Greg and returning the kiss passionately. It was a kiss that spoke volumes to how much the two men had missed each other, and it did more than words could ever hope to.

“Welcome home,” Greg breathed once they finally parted from one another. Mycroft cupped his cheek gently and smiled, kissing him again softly on the lips, before moving up to kiss his forehead as well.

“Thank you, Gregory. It’s so lovely to see you, I’ve missed you dearly.”

They embraced, clutching to each other tightly for a moment more. Greg finally pulled the two of them apart and tugged at him.

“C’mon. I’ve got a fire going in the sitting room. Shall we?” he asked, tilting his head towards the room in question. Mycroft nodded, and slipped past the older man to head in there. Instead of following right away, however, Greg headed into the kitchen to pour their wine.

Two glasses in hand, he made his way into the sitting room, where he found Mycroft already getting stretched out comfortably on the sofa facing the fireplace. He went to join him, climbing onto the sofa and settling against his slender body, before handing him one of the glasses. Mycroft took a drink and hummed in appreciation to the taste.

“Gregory, this is lovely,” he commented after a few moments of comfortable silence. The two men were reclining together on their comfortable sofa, curled up against each other, wine in hand. Between drinks of the alcoholic beverage, they shared kisses and brushes of noses and fingers against soft skin.

“I’ll greet you like this every time,” Greg mumbled, letting his head fall back against Mycroft’s shoulder. He was rewarded with a quick series of kisses.

“I would not be opposed to that,” Mycroft said with a smile that Greg could feel forming against his temple.


	75. Singing In The Shower

Greg liked to sing in the shower. He’d always been a very musical person, and while it was something he had done fairly frequently, it increased when he was living alone again after the divorce. He tended to go back and fourth between The Clash, Billy Idol, and the Sex Pistols most often, with smatterings on The Beatles, The Who, so on and so fourth. If either of his daughters played a catchy pop song and it got stuck in his head, he’d catch himself singing it too. 

He’d never been one to sing when other people could hear, of course. When he’d been married, he’d barely done it, unless he knew he was alone. He was caught a couple of times, but those times could be counted on one hand. So in living alone, he became comfortable with it again. So comfortable that, when he began having company every now and again, he sort of forgot to stop himself.

The first time Mycroft had heard Greg singing from his bedroom, he’d been surprised and fascinated. In their growing closeness, he’d easily known the older man’s passion for music. He had also been told that Greg had been in a band in his early 20s. That had been the extent of it, though. It had been a rather lovely morning to be lying in the man’s bed, covered by nothing but his bed sheets, and hearing his deep voice singing I Wanna Be Your Man by The Beatles. The politician didn’t move, closing his eyes to just listen, and didn’t realize until he stopped that he’d briefly forgotten to breathe.

Greg never called attention to it, so Mycroft never brought it up either. As their relationship progressed and they stayed over at each other’s places more, Mycroft got chances to hear it more. He never sang when they showered together (though admittedly his mouth was occupied with other tasks most of the time…), and he never said anything. It was possible the older man didn’t realize Mycroft could hear him. Were that the case, the chance of him stopping if anything was said was a bit too high.

Mycroft started taking to sitting outside the bathroom door during these showers. He could hear better, being closer, and always made his way back into the bedroom before Greg finished the shower. The older man was none the wiser. Mycroft adored these moments. There was something secretly intimate about it that he yearned for. Some of the songs he would recognize, but most of them he did not, and it didn’t matter. The song and the lyrics were of little concern when being emitted by that voice. He could sing the bloody ABCs and Mycroft would adore it.

Finally, one day, as Greg was singing Rebel Yell by Billy Idol, Mycroft just couldn’t stand it anymore. He stood from his spot on the floor and slipped into the bathroom quietly, undressing himself as he moved. He dropped his clothes in a small pile next to the sink and slowly made his way across the bathroom. Greg was only alerted to his presence once he was pulling back the curtain and climbing in the tub with him.

“Myc,” Greg said, startled, blinking with wide eyes. Mycroft smiled, noticing the slight embarrassment that came onto his lover’s features as he realized that he’d been caught singing, and there was no denying it. Stepping in, Mycroft wrapped his arms around Greg’s body and leaned in to kiss his forehead.

“Keep singing?” he requested softly, speaking against the older man’s wet skin.

“I, uh…” Greg muttered, glancing down slightly. He really was immensely embarrassed. It was a bit surprising, honestly, because the man was so sure about himself in almost every aspect of his life. How could he be so embarrassed about something he was so amazing at?

“Please?” he asked after a beat, moving to gaze down into his eyes. They stared at each other for a moment, before finally Greg smiled and nodded.

“But, oh, what a wonderful feeling, just to know that you are near,” he started singing softly, smiling and brushing their noses together. It was a different song than before, with a lot more feeling behind it, and it made Mycroft’s breath catch in his throat. His smile shifted into an even brighter grin as he continued, reaching up to cup his pale cheek. “Sets my heart a-reeling from my toes up to my ears.”

He slipped into humming, leaning in to nuzzle Mycroft gently, as they stood there under the stream of water and held each other. Mycroft thought that it was wonderful hearing him sing before. To hear him sing directly to him made the younger man’s whole body feel warm all over.


	76. Bullseye

After the strange and hectic events of Baskerville, Greg had found himself getting a bit nervous about his skills with a gun. Granted, they didn’t use them all that often on the job, but his aim had been rather inexcusable that evening in the woods. So, instead of making his way home one evening after work, he decided to go to the gun range attached to the Yard and practice for a few hours.

He spent the better part of an hour or two shooting. His aim wasn’t bad, far from it, but it wasn’t as precise as he would prefer. He was a Detective Inspector, after all. While they didn’t necessarily use guns as much as other police forces did, it was still a skill that was required in their line of work. You never knew when it would be crucial. If John hadn’t been there at Baskerville, could things have turned out differently?

In his concentration, Greg was unaware of the presence that came in with him after a little while. He was concentrating hard on a difficult shot, when the sound of a man clearing his throat behind him spooked him. It was right as he had pulled the trigger, too, so what he’d lined up to be a pretty good shot ended up not even hitting the paper. Blinking, and a bit furious, he spun around to see who the culprit was.

“Mycroft?” he asked incredulously, staring with wide eyes at the politician behind him, umbrella and all. He had a very amused look on his face. Greg didn’t know whether to be relieved to see him, or furious he’d distracted him so. Their conditions were the safest possible, of course, but he was still shooting a gun. There were so many ways that could have still ended up horribly.

“Good afternoon Gregory,” Mycroft smiled, taking a few steps closer to close the distance between them. “I trust your trip to Baskerville was a success?”

“Eventually,” Greg grumbled, setting the gun on the barrier’s counter and stepping close. He let his arms slip around the taller man’s waist and pulled him into a hug that was returned after a slightly hesitant moment. “Missed you.”

The two of them had been dating for a little while now, but nothing they had made official just yet. It was an unspoken relationship between the two of them, and for now, Greg was fine with it. He wouldn’t be forever, and he knew that, but for now, it was fine. Mycroft returned the hug, causing Greg to smile, before taking a step back.

“You are a wonderful shot, you know,” Mycroft pointed out, taking a sideways glance at the paper that he had been using for target practice. “The events at Baskerville have no reason to keep you here so much later than normal.”

“Yeah, but,” Greg started, shrugging a bit. “I need to be a better shot. The situation there showed me that. I can’t afford to slack, or it could be an even worse situation next time.”

Mycroft nodded, and remained silent as he glanced at the gun Greg had been previously using. Greg followed his line of sight, and then glanced back at the younger man, and shortly broke out into a grin. Oh, what an idea.

“Ever shot before?” he asked, his grin getting even wider. Mycroft arched an eyebrow.

“I have,” he confirmed warily. “Though it is not an activity I prefer to indulge in very often.”

With the way he way eyeing the weapon, Greg took a chance to think that by ‘very often’ he meant ‘absolutely never’. It made him want to have his partner shoot even more.

“C’mon,” he urged, reaching to pick the gun up. He stepped over to give Mycroft room in front of the target and held out the gun. “Give it a go. Just once.”

Mycroft’s eyebrow shot up as they gazed at each other, but something in him finally gave in as he and Greg stared at each other. With a sigh, Mycroft stepped forward to stand in the proper spot, and then reached for the offered weapon. He looked at it in his hand warily, before sighing through his nose and focusing on aiming.

What happened next was basically a blur. Mycroft lifted the gun, positioned himself properly, and fired it once. Greg peered curiously at the paper: Dead center bulllseye. Mouth parting slightly, he stared for a moment more before focusing on Mycroft again, who was still holding the gun up. His eyes widened slightly, brown irises being quickly overtaken by black pupils. The heat that surged through him was ridiculous, and it took every bit of self-control in him to not jump him right there. That… had been one of the most attractive fucking displays he’d ever witnessed. Stepping forward, he took the gun from Mycroft’s hand and set it down, before pressing close.

“My car,” he growled in the younger man’s ear, pressing up against him to reveal his very quick, very evident arousal. “Now.”


	77. Life-Changing

It had been Mycroft’s initial idea to pursue the avenue of having a child. Not that Greg wasn’t thinking it also, but it had been Mycroft who had brought it up. He wanted it. He loved Gregory Lestrade more than anything, and the life they had created was perfect, except for the one thing he’d found himself missing from their union. He’d never been particularly drawn to children before, so it had been a surprising revelation, but he wanted.

Now, as he sat on the sofa next to his husband, who was holding their newborn child, Mycroft was terrified. He sat rigid, gazing down at what had to be the smallest human being that existed with wide, pale eyes. Oliver had been home from hospital with them for a few days now, and Mycroft had yet to hold him. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, it was just… He didn’t know how.

The child, their child, was resting in Greg’s arms and staring up at his papa with eyes that hadn’t quite decided on a color, so they remained slightly gray. His lips were parted, and it seemed that Greg was possibly the most fascinating thing in the world to the young boy. He would occasionally hiccup or make a small cooing noise, arms flailing about as he shifted, and he was possibly the cutest thing in the world. Greg would make cooing noises right back, or vibrate his lips in a noise that captured Oliver’s complete attention, and then Greg would grin brightly and laugh. 

It was a sight to behold.

“Myc,” Greg spoke, and it took Mycroft a second to register he was being addressed. Blinking, he tore his eyes away from their son to glance at his husband.

“Yes Gregory?” he asked, raising his eyebrows slightly.

“Wanna hold him?”

That same fear clutched at Mycroft’s chest in a peculiar way. It wasn’t something he could explain, and he felt a bit foolish, but there was nothing to be done about that.

“I couldn’t possibly…” he started, shifting subconsciously on the sofa. Greg shook his head.

“You’re his father too, you know,” the older man pointed out. “C’mon. It’s not that hard. I’ll teach you.”

Before Mycroft could protest or deter his husband, Greg was standing slowly and moving to stand in front of him. Kneeling down so that he was on his knees, he held Oliver close as he regarded his husband.

“Hold your arms out. Like me, create an area you can rest him on,” Greg started to instruct softly. Blinking, Mycroft began to shift, mimicking his husband’s position the best he could. Greg nodded. “That’s it. Now, remember, you’re gonna want to support his head, okay? Keep your hand flat against him when I hand him off. Your other hand should naturally rest around his butt. Are you ready?”

“N-no,” Mycroft admitted in embarrassment. Greg was smiling affectionately at him.

“Yes you are,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He was so sure. How was Greg so sure? It was infuriating. There was no more time to think, however, because the older man was leaning close and the transfer was happening. Mycroft could feel his heart beating so fast as the little bundle that was their son was being moved from Greg’s confident, experienced arms to his awkward ones. Greg was whispering softly, their closeness causing the tip of his rounded nose to brush against Mycroft’s cheek in what was oddly comforting. When he moved away, Mycroft was holding Oliver.

He remembered to support his head as he was told, and it was fascinating just how small the infant’s head truly was against his hand. Oliver had grunted a bit as he was moved around, but now that all that nonsense had come to an end, he was settling into the new pair of arms easily enough. At least one of them was. Mycroft was pretty sure he forgot how to breathe. He stared down at the boy in his arms, lips parted slightly, and he licked his lips nervously. Greg had a hand on Mycroft’s bicep, squeezing gently before pulling back and sitting on his heels.

“Gregory, I-“ he started to whisper, his voice shaking, when Oliver seemed to suddenly pay more attention to the person that was holding him now. The child seemed to realize it was no longer the person that had been holding him, and his little forehead furrowed slightly for a moment, and an arm flailed out a bit.

“You’re doing perfect,” came Greg’s response. His deep voice was shaking slightly, and his brown eyes were glossed with proud tears. Mycroft risked a glance at his husband for half a second before having to look down at their son again. After a few moments of rigid uncertainty, something began to feel… right. This was how it was meant to be. Clarity was coming in, and suddenly it all made sense.

“Hello Oliver,” he managed to say to the small boy, his eyes still wide. “Hello, it’s your father.”

Oliver cooed, much like he had earlier in the evening, and began flailing about again. Mycroft started to smile a bit at how well everything seemed to be going. Then, those flailing arms reached up, and Oliver’s tiny fingers were grabbing onto the tip of Mycroft’s long nose. The younger man could feel tears prickling in his eyes, and what had started as a small smile broke into a full grin, and he laughed shakily. 

He was in love. This was his son. This was his and Gregory’s son. Suddenly everything locked in place and made sense, and all he could wonder is why it had taken so long for him to do this. How had he gone almost an entire week without holding the most beautiful baby imaginable? Face bright and full of emotion, he glanced up at Greg, and their eyes locked. Greg broke out into a grin as well.

“Our son,” he said breathlessly. “Gregory-“

He wasn’t able to complete whatever thought was surging through his jumbled mind, because Greg took the opportunity to lean in and kiss him passionately. Mycroft made a soft noise against Greg’s lips, meeting the passion as his heart pounded in his chest and their son cooed between them.

“I love you,” Greg said as he pulled away. Then, he brushed his hand across Oliver’s forehead, leaning in to kiss his chubby cheek. “And I love you too, little Ollie. We both do.”

“God yes,” was all Mycroft managed to breathe, gazing down at Oliver as well. His life was complete, and there was no denying it.


	78. Old Photos

“I know you’re familiar with the way his naked butt looks now, but take a look at his naked butt way back when,” Annabeth Lestrade said as she all but dropped a photo album into Mycroft’s lap. Next to his partner on the sofa, Greg groaned and covered his face, utterly mortified.

“Mother, please no,” he complained, scrubbing his face as heat covered his cheeks. It was their first holiday being spent in Greg’s childhood home, and his parents utterly adored Mycroft. His mother was doing what she usually called her motherly duty, by embarrassing the hell out of her son. Mycroft, on the other hand, looked disgustingly delighted as he opened the book and began looking at photos.

“Oh Greg, darling, it’s my-“ his mother started tutting.

“Your motherly duty, I know. Still.” He frowned as he looked over at Mycroft. “You don’t have to be having so much fun either, you know.”

“Oh come now Gregory,” Mycroft said, grinning as he held up a page that had him at three years old playing with a tricycle. “Just look how cute you were.”

“Even at that age he wanted to be up on a bike,” Annabeth said with a whimsical sigh. “Should’ve known then that one day it would turn into a motorcycle.”

“I bet you were rotten,” Mycroft muttered to Greg. The older man sighed and ran a hand through his silver hair. He slumped back into the sofa, accepting his fate, and making note to encourage Mummy Holmes to return the favor when they went to visit next.

After a few more moments of Mycroft and his mum sitting and talking over pictures of his youth, Annabeth stood and excused herself to head to the kitchen where his father was working on dinner. Greg sighed, glancing over at his partner, who was still strangely fascinated with the album. Sitting up straighter, he leaned over to glance at where he was at, their shoulders touching as Greg closed the space between them.

“Ah, teenage years,” he commented, seeing the pictures of him with his bike, and out with friends, all of that. What a time that had been. He’d been quite the troublemaker, for sure. He noticed Mycroft run the tips of his fingers down a shot of just him, beaming brightly in front of the Harley he had just gotten, clad in form-fitted jeans and a black and red leather jacket. His dark brown hair was spiked, and he had a piercing in his right ear.

“You were quite the punk,” Mycroft said softly. Greg blinked. The younger man had already known what kind of background he’d had growing up, so this wasn’t all that new to him. He’d never seen photos, though, so… 

“Yeah, sure was,” he nodded, smiling softly. “Very full of myself.”

“You had right to be,” Mycroft muttered, still staring. Greg blinked again.

“Myc?”

When their eyes met, Mycroft’s pupils had grown slightly. It was the beginnings to a look Greg was all too familiar with, and it took him by surprise at first. With a quick glance toward the kitchen to check and see that they were still officially alone, Greg leaned in to brush his lips against the curve of Mycroft’s ear.

“I still have that jacket,” he whispered deeply, breathing into his ear. Mycroft sucked in a breath next to him, going rigid. “And the Harley’s out in the garage.”

“But Gregory, your parents…” Mycroft said breathlessly, already knowing what he was suggesting. Smirking, Greg took the younger man’s earlobe in between his teeth and bit gently. The action caused the most delicious noise of surprise and arousal to escape.

“Are making dinner,” he completed for his partner, sliding a hand around to ghost over the bulge in Mycroft’s trousers. That emitted another whimper as Mycroft started to throw decency out the window. “Won’t be done for a while. We have plenty of time.”

“Gregory…”

Greg growled slightly, sucking on Mycroft’s lobe as he cupped his erection and squeezed gently. Mycroft bit his lip to force back the moan that threatened to tumble out.

“C’mon,” he whispered hotly. Mycroft shivered again, but instead of responding, grabbed Greg’s wrist and tugged him off the couch, heading upstairs to Greg’s old bedroom.


	79. In The Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teen AU

Greg was panicking. He supposed that was the right word. Maybe ashamed and embarrassed were better ones. Regardless, he had to keep his boyfriend away from his flat. He couldn’t let Mycroft see that he was only moving around his home by candlelight.

He’d never been one to grow up in an immensely well off home. He and his mum did alright, sure, even if they never lived fancy. Now he was living on his own, scraping by on a crap job with long hours that were barely doing the job. He was a prideful teen, though, and his mum had enough to deal with to try helping him on top of it. So he worked, he slept, he paid his bills… and he had his boyfriend.

Mycroft was the beacon of light in the stressful time in his life. He could relax with Mycroft. He could set aside the stresses of life on his own for at least a little while, be with the boy he loved, and all was well. Except that they had a date tonight and Greg’s electric had been shut off. His long hours that were barely paying the bills weren’t paying them well enough. He’d gotten shut off last night and had spent it all in the dark, preserving his mobile battery as best he could and charging it while he’d been at work during the day. And… Mycroft was on his way over. He couldn’t keep this secret from him any more.

A crisp knocking on his door caused Greg to jump and stop breathing, before letting out an exhausted sigh. He was basically ready to go, though getting dressed and showered in the dark wasn’t a fun task, and he’d hoped to be able to be standing outside waiting for his boyfriend. Nope. With a resigned slump of his shoulders, he made his way over to let the younger boy in.

“Gregory, good-“ the taller teen started to greet, but stopped short as he glanced around the darkened flat. He raised his eyebrows curiously. “You’ve decided to live by candlelight because….?”

Greg shrugged, in a half hearted attempt to shrug it off enough for them to hurry up and leave.

“Feeling spontaneous. Shall we?” he asked, pressing a hand to his boyfriend’s back and grabbing his keys. Mycroft wouldn’t move.

“You don’t have power. Why don’t you have power?” he asked, already catching onto the situation. Greg grimaced. He’d learned already that you couldn’t keep a secret from Mycroft Holmes. The kid was stupid smart, and he’d seen right through Greg from the get go.

“I, uh…”

“Gregory. Why did they shut off your power?”

Greg sighed, stepping back and folding his arms in on himself self-consciously. He stared at the floor, not wanting to admit it to him. He’d barely wanted to admit it to his mum, let alone his well off, proper boyfriend. He was getting the deductive eye, though, and he knew there was no avoiding it.

“Couldn’t…couldn’t pay it,” he muttered, refusing to look up. Silence fell in the flat, making Greg shift a bit uncomfortably. Then, the sound of his front door shutting caused him to look up with wide eyes, fear clutching him that the other teen had left. He hadn’t. Instead, he was walking towards him and running a hand through his dark hair, pulling him close to press a kiss to his forehead.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mycroft asked against his skin. “You can always tell me. I can help, Gregory. There is no reason you should be stuck in the dark.”

Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft in a hug and shut his eyes, sighing. He knew he could’ve told him… Could’ve asked him. It wasn’t the question of asking for help. It was the pride not letting him. He could make his own way.

“I just couldn’t… I can take care of it,” he whispered insecurely.

“I don’t doubt that, but that doesn’t change the fact that you need help now.” Mycroft pulled back and cupped his cheek. “Please let me help. I want to help.”

Greg sighed again, pressing his lips together in a thin line. He could see Mycroft smiling, and his head was tilted up so they could kiss properly.

“Come home with me tonight,” he requested against Greg’s lips. “And in the morning, we will get this sorted out.”

“Myc, I-“

“This is not up for debate, Gregory. Come to bed with me tonight. Tomorrow, we will take care of this. Together.”

Greg nodded. There was no arguing with Mycroft when he was set on something. Plus, he couldn’t deny the relief to have the help. Even if he’d never wanted to ask for it.


	80. Taking A Bath

Greg reached over and grabbed Mycroft’s hand, moving to tug him away from the desk in his study. He grinned as the younger man blinked at him in surprise, practically stumbling at the force he was unprepared for.

“Gregory, what are you doing?” Mycroft asked with a huff. Greg proceeded to drag him down the hall and towards their bedroom. “Gregory, I have to finish-“

“Nope. Later,” he said over his shoulder, vetoing his other half being locked in a room for the rest of the night. They were going to get some time together. He was determined. Then Mycroft could go back to running England. He tugged him through the bedroom and to the attached bathroom, where he finally let go and turned around to face him. It was adorable and almost hilarious at the confusion on Mycroft’s face. It was something that anyone rarely saw, and it was yet another thing Greg felt lucky to be able to witness. Realization dawned on him soon enough, of course, and his entire expression changed.

“You drew a bath?” Mycroft asked, peering behind Greg and to the filled tub, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yup,” Greg nodded, walking over and starting to unbutton the taller man’s waistcoat. “And we’re taking one.”

“Are we now?” he asked, thin eyebrow rising even higher. He did nothing to stop Greg from pulling his waistcoat and shirt off, leaving him bare chest, however. Then, taking a step back, Greg began to undress himself as well.

“We sure are. Trousers off.”

“Gregory, manners.”

“Trousers off, please,” Greg smirked, emphasizing his request as he dropped his own and stepped out of them. Mycroft let his eyes roam across his naked, tanned body in appreciation before following suit, and ridding himself of the rest of his clothing as well. Turning, Greg walked over and climbed into the bath he had prepared, stepping into the warm (very warm but not uncomfortably hot) water, slowly lowering himself and settling in against the back of the tub. He sighed as he relaxed, parted his legs to either side, and reached out his hand towards Mycroft. The younger of the two took it securely, stepping into the tub as well. He hesitated briefly as he adjusted to the warm temperature, before moving to lower himself as well. He settled in between Greg’s legs, but remained sitting straight.

“Nice, right?” Greg asked, sitting up again so that they were pressed against each other. He pressed a soft kiss to the back of Mycroft’s elbow, who hummed softly.

“Yes, it is rather pleasant,” he agreed, closing his eyes as Greg wrapped his arms around his torso, hands joining against his stomach.

They remained like that for a while, Greg continuing to press slow kisses to his shoulder and neck. The water soon started to grow cold, so they drained the tub a bit and began refilling it with warmer water, effectively prolonging the time they could spend there. Neither man really wanted to get out yet.

Adjusting slightly, Greg shifted back a bit and brought his hands up along Mycroft’s shoulders. He squeezed gently, moving in slow circles, beginning a massage of his shoulders and upper back. Mycroft groaned, a noise that shouldn’t be legal and one Greg had heard many times in a completely different context. It made him shiver. He smiled, continuing to work against the small knots he was finding in Mycroft’s back, until his partner had slumped and leaned back against his chest.

“Felt good,” Mycroft mumbled, and he tilted his head to the side to kiss Greg sweetly. Greg’s arms went back around his middle, holding him close as they kissed until neither man could breathe properly and they had to break, panting softly. Greg brushed the tips of their noses together, smiling, before going back in for another kiss.

His heart rate started to pick up, and after a moment, their kiss became a bit more intense. Mycroft shifted, turning so that he was more on his side, deepening the kiss a bit. Greg gripped his side securely, eventually pulling away while sucking and biting slightly on Mycroft’s bottom lip. They both huffed, eyes slightly darker now, and Greg broke out into a grin.

“See? I have good ideas,” he said breathlessly. Mycroft huffed a laugh and cupped the older man’s cheek gently.

“Yes, you do,” he nodded. “Now, I would very much love if you would wash my back for more, darling.”


	81. In The Stairwell

The elevator was out of order. How on Earth could the only elevator on their side of this big hotel be out of order?  How could a hotel so big and fancy only have one elevator on their side?!  Greg couldn’t quite figure out what to make of the entire ordeal.  He supposed he should be counting his blessings that their room was only six stories up, but with the rate of speed Mycroft was ascending, six stories was suddenly six too high.

 

“Myc, love, would you slow down?” he asked, panting harshly.  His newly wed husband had long legs, of course (legs he adored more than anything), but these long legs were taking steps two at a time at an alarming rate.  It wasn’t fair how quickly the younger man could climb stairs.

 

“We’re halfway there already, Gregory,” Mycroft said, stopping on the platform between staircases and turning to gaze at him. He arched a single eyebrow at the sight of Greg doubled over, hands on his knees, chest heaving.

 

“Yes, but… I need a breather,” Greg frowned, running a hand through his hair. “I’m an old man, Myc, I’m not as spry as I used to be.”

 

Greg wasn’t out of shape, by any means. Being a Detective Inspector, he still had to stay pretty fit.  Chasing after suspects, long hours on foot moving around London, chasing after Sherlock… It was definitely a lot to keep him moving.  Even still, that much exertion in a short span of time could make him lose his breath, and his legs to ache.

 

Finally, he was able to straighten himself, and Mycroft started to walk back down the short series of steps between them. His husband had a smile on his face, one that held mischief behind it.  It made Greg’s heart race, because he knew the kind of mischief that smile usually led to.

 

“Well, husband mine, allow me to assist you with that,” Mycroft said lowly.  Reaching out, he grabbed the front of Greg’s shirt and shoved him against the concrete wall of the stairwell.  Leaning in, he pressed their lips together, kissing him roughly.  Greg let out a noise of surprise and excitement, and it only took him a brief second to respond and start kissing him back just as intensely.

 

Greg loved when Mycroft kissed him this way. In the time they had been together, they’d managed to kiss every way possible.  These kisses, however… They were all pressure and tongue and teeth and _want_.  These kisses were hungry and desperate, the easiest way to beg for more.

 

“While…while this is…very lovely,” he panted as they broke apart in order to catch their breaths a bit. “This doesn’t…really help…me recover.”

 

Mycroft’s smile turned into an all out smirk, his pale eyes darkened with arousal.  It sent a shiver down Greg’s spine, and he wanted.  Fucking hell, with Mycroft Holmes, he always wanted. This time, it was his turn to grab onto his husband’s shirt and tug him close, initiating another heated kiss. He took Mycroft’s bottom lip in between his teeth and sucked roughly, causing a soft moan to escape from the other man. Greg wanted to hear more. He wanted to hear it all. His hands were up in Mycroft’s silky, slightly ginger hair, and he slid a leg in between his long ones as they pressed against each other against the wall.  This was about to get vastly inappropriate. It probably already was. Greg partially wondered how far the excuse of _‘We’re on our honeymoon’_ would get them.

 

“Gregory,” Mycroft panted, breaking the kiss this time, barely resisting the urge to grind against Greg’s thigh. His smooth voice was roughed with his arousal, and it made Greg shiver again.  He bit his kiss-swollen lip, staring up at him heatedly.

 

“Take me to bed,” he commanded, his voice almost a growl, finishing the sentence for Mycroft. 

 

 Mycroft Holmes, who was normally so calm and composed, was fighting to keep himself as such at that sentence.  Greg could see it in the way his eyes darkened even more, the way the corner of his mouth twitched, and the way his grip on Greg’s shirt tightened.

 

They moved, faster than either of them had quite expected, scaling the rest of the stairs easily.  It was amazing how easily Greg completed the rest of the climb. Of course, now he had a goal in mind. And he wanted to get very naked, very very fast.


	82. Don't Make Me Adore You

Cases as delicate as this required a personal touch. Mycroft had dealt with too many experiences where, had he not had a hand in it himself, things would have screwed up immensely.  So to have a peculiar case, and to add Sherlock on top of it, made it very delicate. It wouldn’t be such an issue if his ridiculous younger brother hadn’t snuck into a high-ranking facility with _his_ credentials (again), and caused alerts to go off once things started to get a bit off and out of hand (again).  That infuriating boy never allowed him peace.

 

Part of him was reluctant to involve the Detective Inspector in this business, but there was really no one he trusted better than Gregory Lestrade.  When it came to Sherlock, specifically, there was no other that could handle the younger Holmes (apart from John, but the good doctor was already there, so it was really doing him no good).  The older man had just returned from holiday, so Mycroft hadn’t wanted to bother him since he had yet to return to work, but he was left little choice.

 

Inspector Lestrade had, of course, agreed when the text was sent.  Mycroft hadn’t doubted that he would.  He had such a kind heart, and he was a good cop on top of it all, so it was a perfect mix for something of this nature.  Apart from the beginnings of their working relationship, when the two of them had hardly known each other, they had always worked together very well.  There was tension at times, mostly when a case required Mycroft to take it from Lestrade’s hands completely, but that just couldn’t be helped.

 

Currently, Mycroft was on his way to fetch Lestrade and take him to the train station.  He would have preferred to take the man all the way to Baskerville himself, but he had other duties to attend to that wouldn’t allow him to take such a trip. He had insisted on providing transport at least that far, as well as paying for the train ticket and his stay in the hotel, as payment for assisting.  Lestrade had put up a fight, as to be expected, but Mycroft won out in the end (also to be expected).  As his car pulled up in front of his flat, Mycroft paused for a moment, before deciding to step out and go up personally.

 

This was not the first time he had entered Lestrade’s flat.  As they’d begun working together more closely, Mycroft had received invitation to let himself in when he was stopping by.  It was bizarre, to be sure, but it was just one of the ways the two of them had been raised so differently from one another.  So, taking the liberty that had been offered to him, Mycroft stepped up to the door and opened it, stepping inside.

 

He peered around the small flat – there wasn’t much of a lived in touch to it.  Mycroft could tell it belonged to Lestrade from some minor things around it, but overall, it was fairly barren.  Much like his own estate, honestly.  The owner of the flat was nowhere to be found, however.  Mycroft’s brow furrowed slightly.  He was expected, so where was he?

 

He stepped through the rooms, seeking out the Detective Inspector, before finally finding him.  By finding him, of course, he almost walked straight into the man as he exited his bedroom.

 

“Apologies-“ Mycroft started, but fell short as he laid eyes on the man in front of him.  He was fairly sure he was gaping.  Greg Lestrade was standing in front of him in nothing but his trousers, which were unbuttoned to reveal the waistband of his pants underneath. He seemed startled, but not the least bit embarrassed about this state of undress.

 

“Mr. Holmes, I’m almost ready,” he blinked, recovering and running a hand through his darkly silver hair.  It was damp.  Ah. He’d been showering. Mycroft found he couldn’t take his eyes off the man’s frankly debauched state.  Good lord.  He found himself attracted to the Detective Inspector for a while now, but this was a whole new sight, and it was overwhelming to his sense.

 

“Ah… yes, of course,” he managed after a moment, probably sounded absolutely ridiculous. “Whenever you are ready, naturally.”

 

He cleared his throat, taking a step back and trying to not so obviously stare at Lestrade’s bare chest.  He was toned, looking extremely lovely and tan, and Mycroft felt heat rising in his cheeks.  Then the older man grinned and nodded, and it almost made his knees go weak.

 

“Won’t be but a few more moments,” he said, starting to walk past him. “Unless you don’t need us to go right away.”

 

“I, um.  Y-yes, I do, actually.” Mycroft was annoyed and embarrassed with himself. He never stuttered. He sounded absolutely ridiculous. “Do hurry, please.  I don’t want to have to adore you.”

 

The slip of the tongue was more embarrassing than anything else.  Of course, the phrase had been more under his breath than the rest of it, but he had a feeling Lestrade hadn’t missed it for a second.  Oh good lord, he was acting like a child.  He cleared his throat again, moving to stare at his umbrella.  He could still see Lestrade out of his peripheral, smirking.

 

“Maybe that’s my grand plan,” Greg commented, before turning and heading back into his bedroom.  Mycroft thought he could die on the spot. What an evening this was turning out to be…


	83. How Did I Not Know?

One of the best ways to wind down from a lovely evening at dinner with one’s partner was relaxing on the couch. Greg could barely keep the wide grin off his face with how content he was.  His week had been long and awful, and this was the first night he and Mycroft had been able to spend together this week.  Both their work schedules had been beyond hectic, so they decided to make tonight a big deal.  There was dinner, there was dancing (of which Greg was still embarrassed about, because Lord he could not dance), there was a walk in the park, and now there was snuggling in front of a soothing fire.

 

It had started out as just cuddling. Mycroft was stretched out on the sofa, his legs propped up on Greg’s lap, and the two of them were sipping an aged scotch Mycroft had been saving for quite a while.  Greg had vehemently refused for him to open it at first, that surely it was being saved for a special occasion, but when the younger man smiled sweetly and said he could not think of a more special occasion than tonight, Greg could’ve cried it was so sweet and he no longer put up a fight.

 

Once Greg had finished with his scotch, however, he shifted on the sofa some so that he was turned more towards Mycroft than he had previously been.  Reaching over, he started gently massaging his other half’s long legs. Mycroft hummed softly over his scotch glass, letting his eyes fall closed as he enjoyed the sensation. Greg grinned, gazing in complete adoration at the man next to him.

 

“That feels amazing, Gregory,” Mycroft commented after a moment.

 

“M’glad,” Greg replied, sliding down a bit and focusing on his ankles.  It was a part of the body many people didn’t think to work on when giving a massage, but Greg had learned from a relative who did this for a living, so he’d gotten rather good at it over the years.  His motions continued to emit sighs and hums of content, which were absolutely brilliant. He would massage his partner every bloody night if this was what it would do each time.

 

After more lingering there, he shifted down more to focus on Mycroft’s feet.  He gazed down, watching the motions of his thumbs as they started to work from his heels up, when he felt Mycroft stiffen in his grasp.  Greg blinked curiously, but before he could open his mouth to say anything, the younger man was pulling his legs away in attempt to get out of his touch.

 

“Myc?” he asked, brow furrowed as he glanced over at him.  Mycroft wasn’t looking at him; his eyes were locked on the scotch glass in his hands.

 

“Thank you Gregory, that was rather lovely,” he mumbled, flustered.  He hid it well, but over the years, Greg had learned to pick up on the tiniest cues. He was flustered. Why?

 

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked, glancing down at Mycroft’s feet.

 

“No, not at all, I just…” Mycroft’s words died in his throat, and Greg arched an eyebrow.  He thought on it for a moment, running back over the scenario again in his head, and slowly, a theory began to dawn on him.

 

“Are you _ticklish_?” he asked, a slow grin starting to spread onto his face. Mycroft looked at him, unable to hide the second of surprise that was showing on his face. That was what gave him away.

 

“No, that’s absurd,” he muttered, but shifted a bit. Grin widening, Greg reached out and began to massage his foot again, though his motions were quicker. Mycroft’s body jerked and the grip on his now empty glass tightened.  The noise he made was practically a squeak.

 

“Oh my god, you **are** ,” Greg said, eyes lighting up in delight. “How was it you could keep that from me all these years?”

 

Mycroft sighed in exasperation, tucking his feet under him and out of the older man’s reach.

 

“Because I’m very good at it, and it’s a ridiculous thing.”

 

“No it’s not.  C’mere.”

 

“Gregory, I swear, if you-“

 

But he did.  Greg practically dove over the sofa and wriggled with his partner playfully, giggling excitedly as Mycroft shouted in surprise and protest. Eventually, he was successful. He may have gotten kicked in the face. But… the gut laughter he drew out of Mycroft made it so worth it.


	84. Nicotine Cravings

It was always difficult to stop smoking when one had been doing so for as long as Mycroft had. He’d never really had an addictive personality. No, Sherlock saw to that just fine. Cigarettes, however, was something he fell into. Of course, now he wanted – no, he needed – to stop, because of the soon-to-be change in he and Greg’s lives. Greg’s sister Emily was currently acting as surrogate for their child, and Mycroft was going to be a father. His mind was still reeling over it some days, but it made him determined. He did not want to be smoking when there was a child living in their home.

So he quit. He had been prepared for the cravings, of course, but that didn’t make it any easier some days. He found that he’d started picking up a few new habits to help with those cravings. They had been subconscious acts, but upon realizing their purpose, made complete sense. He drank more water. It became a common thing for him to have a bottle of water at his desk or in his car, and they had many more in the house than before. When he and Greg went out for dinner, Mycroft always took a toothpick as they left the restaurants, popping it in his mouth and chewing on the way home. As he worked, or lounged about, he took to holding random objects in his hand. A pen was most common, but the object varied depending on what was lying around.

Most of the time he didn’t even realize it when he started doing these things, even though he usually caught on after a brief period. They all helped, strangely enough. All of them combined, however, didn’t compare to one of the best ways he’d found to curb his cravings.

It happened one night as he and Greg were lounging on the sofa, watching a movie. They were curled up together, and Greg had one arm wrapped around Mycroft’s shoulders. The younger man could feel the stirrings of the cravings bubbling, making him shift where he sat slightly. It didn’t help they were smoking in the movie that was on. It didn’t always affect him, but sometimes watching other people smoke stirred up bits of withdrawal in him.

Before he really realized he was doing it, he lifted his hand and grabbed his husbands, the one that was draped over his shoulder and resting against his chest. He stroked the skin on the back of his hand for a few moments before taking Greg’s hand and pulling it up to his mouth. Curling the rest of his fingers over, Mycroft brought the older man’s index finger up to his lips and began swiping the very tip of his tongue against the pad of the finger. His eyes were locked on the telly, of course, as he licked on Greg’s finger, and after a moment he brought it in closer to nibble on it as well.

Attention was called to what he was doing when he felt Greg shift and heard a soft groan escape him. Mycroft froze, realizing that he’d basically been teasing and smoking on Greg’s finger, and he turned to look at his partner. Greg’s pupils were blown wide, a look of arousal very evident there, and that was even before he’d noticed the erection his sweatpants were doing an awful job hiding.  
“Gregory, apologies, I…” he started, moving to pull his hand away. Greg didn’t let him, however, and he moved his finger back in to trace along Mycroft’s bottom lip lightly.

“Don’t stop,” he said, his voice deeper and rougher than normal. Mycroft felt his cheeks flush, and his eyes widened for a moment before he brought the digit back into his mouth. This time, his eyes were locked on Greg instead, watching every shift of his face and listening for every small noise he was emitting. It was so erotic. Finally, it became too much and Greg practically climbed onto Mycroft’s lap. He rocked their hips together, causing Mycroft to gasp and clutch at his partner desperately.

It was, by far, the best form of curbing those nicotine cravings. It was one he had to keep restricted to private settings, of course, because it was inevitable that they both got immensely turned on. It did, however, become common practice for Greg to offer up his finger before Mycroft ever reached for it himself. He’d brush against his soft lips, gazing as he touched, shivering when the younger man’s tongue slipped out to run across it.

Neither of them had ever loved the fact that he’d quit smoking more than they did in those moments.


	85. I Need To See You

_Can I come round? -G_

 

Greg thumbed the screen of his mobile, the glass of champagne almost forgotten in his hand, as he leaned against a counter in the kitchen of 221B.  He’d slipped away in here for a moment alone after Sherlock had so kindly informed him that his wife was cheating again.  The PE teacher. Of course it was the bloody PE teacher.

 

He shouldn’t have been surprised. He and Christina had been out of sorts for a while, and it hadn’t been nearly the first time. They had stayed together for the kids, naturally.  Without his two girls in the picture, Greg would have filed for divorce long ago. Now here he was, miserable again, and he needed…

 

His mobile chimed, causing him to almost jump.

 

_You are at my brother’s Christmas party.  Surely you do not need to leave to come see me.  –MH_

 

Greg sighed, frowning at the words on his screen. His relationship with Mycroft Holmes had been peculiar, to be sure.  It had started as strictly professional, before lapsing into a comfortable friendship, before… They had gone to bed with each other after a long night of scotch, when Christina had first cheated on him.  At least, it was the first time he’d found out about. Even though he’d just found out about the cheating, their problems had started long before then. He was exhausted and hurt, and before he knew it, Mycroft’s lips had looked incredibly inviting, and his lap looked even more inviting… and then it was all over.  Part of him felt guilt, but that guilt made him angry. Why should he feel guilty when he was the one who’d been thrown out to pasture long ago? 

 

_Can I please come round?  I really need to see you. –G_

 

He persisted.  He needed to see Mycroft.  He’d had half a mind to pursue something with Molly Hooper; she was smart and gorgeous and sweet, but… For one, she was mad in love with Sherlock, and for another, that connection just… wasn’t there.  When he thought about a connection, he thought about Mycroft. It was supposed to be a mutually beneficial arrangement and nothing more, but he was falling for the younger man and there was no denying it.

 

It took ages for a response to finally come. So long that, he had given up hope of Mycroft agreeing.  However, once he’d finished his drink and was in the middle of helping John clean up while Sherlock played the violin for Mrs. Hudson, his mobile chimed again.

 

_Alright. –MH_

 

“Hey, Greg, I’m sorry about Sherlock,” John said out of the blue as he washed up a few mugs.  Greg looked up from his mobile to blink at him. “You know how he gets.”

 

“Yeah, it’s… It’s fine, mate,” he tried shrugging off. It wasn’t fine, not really. He felt pretty emotionally fragile right now.  John could see that, in a way. He knew he could.

 

“Listen, if you need anything… Even just a trip to the pub, you and me, just let me know, yeah?” John offered. Greg smiled.

 

“Ta, John.  Really.  I’ll definitely take you up on that.” He clapped a hand on the doctor’s shoulder. The two of them had become such good friends, and he appreciated what they’d built.  Then, he lifted his mobile and nodded to it. “Gotta speed off, though. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

 

“Yeah, for sure,” John smiled kindly.

 

Greg said his goodbyes; pointedly ignoring the look Sherlock gave him as he departed.  It was that bloody look that said he knew exactly what was going on. Of course he knew. He always knew. Shrugging it off, he tugged his coat on as he walked down the stairs, made his way to his car, and drove over to Mycroft’s.

 

He couldn’t quite get used to the grand feeling the elder Holmes’ home gave off.  It fit him very well, of course, so Greg hadn’t been the least bit surprised, but still. It was not his world, that was for sure. Taking a deep breath, he walked right up to the door and knocked.  It only took a moment before the latch was being undone, and the door opened, revealing Mycroft.  Greg’s eyes widened and he felt something in his resolve slipping as he stepped across that threshold. No sooner was the door shut behind him was he wrapping his arms around the taller man’s neck and sliding up on his toes to kiss him deeply.

 

Mycroft returned the kiss with a passion that matched his own.  It had been one of many things that had honestly surprised Greg when their relations first began. He was a damn good kisser. Not just that… He just did amazing things with his mouth.  Greg felt a shiver run down his spine as he pressed against Mycroft, kissing him fiercely, and he let out a soft noise of disappointment as the kiss was broken soon after.

 

“Gregory,” Mycroft muttered, pale blue eyes staring down into his deep brown ones.  He had that look about him that showed he was putting together puzzles pieces, deducing the events that would have led up to this point.  Neither brother would hear it, but it was rather amazing how similar he and Sherlock looked when they did this.

 

“Go ahead,” Greg sighed softly. Mycroft reached up and combed slender fingers through his silver hair.

 

“The PE teacher,” Mycroft muttered. Greg couldn’t help but look away, frowning.

 

“Yeah…” he confirmed, not that he needed to. If Sherlock had known, of course Mycroft would. “I just… I needed to see you…”

 

Silently, Mycroft pressed a kiss to Greg’s forehead. Sighing, he closed his eyes and focused on the softness of those lips.

 

“Can I stay tonight?” he asked, knowing how fragile he sounded.  It was a bit embarrassing, but he really didn’t care.

 

“I…” Mycroft hesitated. “Do not believe that would be a wise decision.”

 

“I know, but… Please.” He took a step back to gaze up at Mycroft with pleading eyes.  He couldn’t go home.  Not tonight. He couldn’t go back to that unfaithful woman who cared nothing for him.  He needed… He needed to feel loved.  Cared for. Here, he did.

 

“Gregory…” Mycroft sighed, continuing to stroke his hair.  He may be protesting, but Greg knew he wasn’t going to refuse.  They’d done this dance before.  Greg was beginning to understand Mycroft all too well.  It soothed him. “Alright.  Would you care for some tea?”

 

“No,” Greg said, shaking his head. “Thank you. I’d rather you take me to bed.”

 

Mycroft blinked, staring for a moment, and Greg took that opportunity to initiate another kiss.  This one was much more fierce and wanting, and he took Mycroft’s bottom lip into his mouth to suck on it.  The act pulled a soft noise from the younger man that made Greg’s trousers start to grow tight.  He needed this. He wanted this.

 

Before long, the two men were lying on Mycroft’s large bed, clothes ripped off and panting harshly as they rocked their hips together, Mycroft moving in and out of Greg slowly.  He normally didn’t bottom, but without having to speak it, this was what they chose.  It was amazing how Mycroft knew exactly what he wanted.  He was an amazing, thoughtful lover, and Greg was arching against him and moaning, begging for more.  He clutched onto Mycroft’s pale body for dear life, practically shouting his name as he came.  Even after they had both finished and collapsed onto the bed, panting heavily and sweating, Mycroft didn’t pull out right away.

 

“Thank you…” Greg mumbled sleepily, closing his eyes as his hair was being stroked again.  Mycroft pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose.

 

“Any time Gregory,” he whispered back, lowering to rest his head in the hollow of Greg’s neck.  Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s torso, hugging him close, and sighing happily.

 

It had started out as casual sex. A mutually beneficial arrangement. Greg could feel that shifting, though, into something more.  Something permanent and meaningful.  He didn’t voice it, not yet, not while Christina was still in the picture.  But he had a feeling that Mycroft would remain in the picture long after she was gone.  He hoped so, anyway. It was too early to profess love or anything of that nature, but there was definitely something. They connected, and it spoke to them both as they gazed into each other’s eyes.

 

They didn’t need to say it.  It was said every time they were joined like this.


	86. Family Meet-Up

“Daddy!”

 

Greg grinned, glancing up from his mobile as he’d finished up replying to his daughter Elizabeth’s text, where he was being fussed at over in a grassy area of the park near a tree.  Mycroft was standing there with their son, Oliver, who was wobbling on his feet but standing straight, facing him.

 

“I’m coming Ollie,” he called as he started to make his way over.

 

“Papa’s being slow, I know.  It’s rather tedious,” he heard Mycroft saying. Greg rolled his eyes, hearing the grin in his husband’s voice, and jogged the rest of the way over.

 

“Teedous,” Oliver repeated, waving a hand out in front of him as he pointed at Greg.  The older man took that opportunity to swoop down and snatch their one-year-old, lifting him up above his head before bringing him down to buzz his lips against his stomach.  Oliver burst out into gut-bursting giggles, flailing his arms and legs about. Greg laughed, gazing up at him brightly as a pair of identically brown eyes stared back down at him.

 

“Down!” Oliver commanded, pointing behind Greg’s head firmly.

 

“Alright love, down you go,” Greg chuckled, bending at the knees to set him back down on the ground.  A little hand pressed against his knee as their child steadied himself, looking around at the park, before turning and looking up at Mycroft.

 

“Papa,” he said reaching out with splayed fingers. Mycroft smiled affectionately. Giggling, Oliver took a slow, wobbly step, before stumbling the distance over to his taller father. He reached out and grabbed the end of Mycroft’s black umbrella, babbling away in his own refined baby language and pointing at the tree they were near.

 

“Clearly he’s deducing that tree for you, love,” Greg beamed as he stood.  His joints popped slightly, causing him to groan, because Christ he was starting to get old.

 

“Indeed he is,” Mycroft smiled, nodding as he kept a watchful eye on their chatty little boy. “They’ll be here soon, yes?”

 

“Yup,” Greg nodded, checking his mobile for the time.   They were waiting for Greg’s two daughters from his previous marriage to show up; they were all getting together for lunch.  Elizabeth was driving them over, because _Lord help him_ she was driving, and they would supposedly be there any moment.

 

“Da!” they heard, as if right on time, and Greg turned to see Elizabeth and Abby walking over to them.  Oliver spun, hearing the familiar voice, and broke out into another stream of excited babbling.  Greg headed forward to meet the two of them, giving them tight hugs and kisses.

 

“Glad you could make it,” Greg smiled, tucking hair behind Abby’s ear and glancing at Elizabeth. “Traffic okay?”

 

“As much as it can be in London,” Elizabeth shrugged. Vibrating with excitement, Abby broke away from them to head straight for Mycroft and Oliver, waving excitedly.

 

“Bee Bee!!” Oliver squealed, tugging on Mycroft’s hand to make him help close the distance between them.  He was getting very good at walking with assistance, yet could not quite do it on his own.  Abby fell onto her knees and drew her little brother into her arms, kissing his cheek over and over as he giggled and grasped at her shirt.

 

“Hello there Ollie,” she cooed. “Who’s the coolest little brother ever?”

 

Oliver babbled in response, pointing over at the tree randomly.  It was a very serious conversation he was engaging in, and Abby listened in rapt fascination as if she knew precisely what he was saying.  Elizabeth and Greg made their way back over, and Greg walked over to wrap an arm around Mycroft’s waist and tug him close. Mycroft smiled and kissed his husband on the cheek.

 

“The gang’s all here,” Greg whispered, chest puffing proudly at the sight in front of him.  Elizabeth had dropped down on her knees as well, leaning in to kiss Oliver’s other cheek. His two daughters and his son… This was his family.  This was his husband, and his children, and it was perfect. 

 

“Lithy, Bee Bee,” Oliver was rambling, and the three of them were practically in their own little world.  The two men stood by, gazing lovingly, and waiting until they were all ready to head to lunch.  As the girls stood up, they each took one of Oliver’s hand and started walking with him in between.  Greg and Mycroft walked behind, only a few paces of space in between, listening as their giggling conversations continued.

 

“Ready for lunch Ollie?” Elizabeth was asking.

 

“Joooose?” Oliver asked, gazing up at her, and breaking out into a grin as she nodded in confirmation.  Mycroft squeezed Greg’s hand affectionately, glancing over at him as they got over to the car.

 

“All right, my darling husband?” he asked softly. Greg slowed and turned to face Mycroft, before reaching in and cupping his cheek.

 

“Perfect,” he responded, eyes shining with proud emotion, as he leaned in to kiss him sweetly.


	87. Our Ordinary Boys

“Come **oooonnnnn** , you sodding wankers!!” Greg shouted loudly, shooting off the sofa and glaring at the telly. “Stop prancing around like a fucking fairy and kick the damn ball!”

 

Next to him, John groaned loudly and fell back against the sofa, away from his previous position of sitting with his back rigidly straight.  The two men were horribly frustrated as they watched their team Arsenal doing the opposite of scoring.

 

“Bloody fucking hell,” Greg grumbled as he dropped back onto the couch.

 

Over on the other side of 221B’s sitting room, in front of the windows, stood the two Holmes brothers.  Both of them were rather exasperated by their respective partners. Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose as he listened to Greg shouting vulgarities, and he sighed.

 

“Dear lord…” he muttered, frowning as he glanced at Sherlock.  They had been sharing brief conversation with one another, keeping things short (because they just didn’t do normal conversation).  Now, his younger brother had picked up his violin and was plucking absently at the strings.

 

“I’ll never understand their obsession with it,” Sherlock commented, glancing at the football match playing on their screen. “Or why they must get so _loud_.”

 

“Some things aren’t meant to be understood, dear brother,” Mycroft commented.  He turned so they were facing a bit more, and he wasn’t constantly staring over at his partner and Doctor Watson.  He put his hands into his pockets and sighed through his nose.

 

“Or he could just pass it to the other team, why the hell not?” John was huffing, throwing a hand up in the air.

 

“They’re both so _ordinary_ ,” Sherlock said, emphasizing the last word with a hunt of distaste.

 

“You were the one that put stock in friends first, Sherlock, not I,” Mycroft took a moment to point out.  He ignored Sherlock’s withering gaze.

 

“Yes, but we really did go and land ourselves partners who are polar opposites,” Sherlock continued.  It was interesting; the two of them could barely stand to be in the same room together most of the time, yet when they did hold actual conversation, it was rather intimate.  For the Holmes boys, anyway.

 

“Well, we couldn’t very well go get people like us,” Mycroft pointed out. “We’d be single forever.”

 

“True,” Sherlock hummed.

 

They fell silent, turning their attention back to Greg and John.  They could not have been there for all the two of them cared, because their attention was set on that television set and it wasn’t going away from it until the match was over. They usually went and did this at a pub, allowing Mycroft to remain at home in the peace and quiet, but they had somehow decided it would be good for him and Sherlock to spend time. Why, Mycroft couldn’t figure out, but it was done and he was here, so he needed to make the best of it.

 

“I’m going to go fucking mental,” Greg snapped, grabbing at his silvery hair in frustration.

 

“Tell me about it,” John grumbled, glaring.

 

“For once, why in the hell did you not bring some stupid case file with you,” Sherlock snapped out of the blue. Mycroft blinked and arched an eyebrow.

 

“You’re telling me you’d actually look at one of my cases?”

 

“Yes, anything to get away from… **that**.”  He gestured at the other two men and huffed. “But no, as usual you are completely useless.”

 

Mycroft didn’t justify that with an answer. Instead, he watched his lover, unable to keep a tiny smile from sliding onto his face.  Even when he was being senseless and ridiculously hotheaded over a game that he wasn’t even personally attending, he was charming and adorable. It shouldn’t combine in such a way, and it shouldn’t make sense, and yet there he was.  He also happened to catch the brief moment where John looked over to where they stood, and smiled affectionately at Sherlock. He also happened to catch the smile Sherlock provided in return.

 

“He is good for you,” he commented after another moment had passed.  Sherlock stared. “John. Just as Gregory is for me.”

 

“Your point?”

 

“It’s why I do not question the possibilities around the union having ever taken place.  They are good for us.”

 

Sherlock, surprisingly, smiled again.

 

“Yes.  I suppose you are correct.”


	88. Can We Keep Him?

“Myc is gonna kill me,” Greg muttered as he slipped in the front door of their home, a damp bundle in his arms. He had a feeling there was no way the younger man would be okay with this, especially since he hadn’t so much as called or texted.  He hadn’t had time. He had needed to act fast.

 

So, pushing down the thought of irritation his other half was bound to have, Greg shifted the weight currently cradled in his arms and headed for the kitchen.  He walked over to the median they had and leaned over it, lowering the damp bundle of blankets down on the countertop.  Said blankets shifted and fell, revealing a shivering, wet kitten staring up at him with bright green eyes.  It mewed softly, clearly cold and hungry.

 

“I’ve got you little one,” he said in a soft voice, rubbing the top of its’ head gently.  It mewed again, and Greg felt his heart hurt at the sight. The poor thing had been abandoned nearby his crime scene, and it was an awful, rainy night.  There was no way he could’ve left it there. It surely would’ve died if he had.

 

Taking his hand back, he set a bag down on the counter behind him from Tesco, where he’d made the quickest trip of his life. He’d picked up dry and wet cat food, as well as a small container of milk and a plastic saucer he could use. He would unload all of that momentarily, but first…

 

He darted out of the kitchen and to one of their hallway closets.  They had some hand towels stashed in there, and he dug around until he pulled out three of them. He didn’t know if he’d need all three, but better safe than sorry.  Shutting the door, he went back into the kitchen and pulled away the wet blankets the small feline had travelled home with him in.  Said feline had taken a few hesitant steps across the surface, its little pink nose wiggling as it sniffed around its new surroundings.

 

“C’mere, yeah?  Let’s get you dried off,” he said in that same soft voice, circling around to where it had walked.  He took one of the towels and began rubbing it dry.  Thankfully, instead of getting spooked and trying to run, the kitten started purring loudly and leaning into his hands as he moved them.  He couldn’t help but laugh softly, happy it was starting to feel better.

 

“There we go!” he said after he’d dried it off as best he could.  The kitten mewed again and blinked up at him. “Yes yes, let’s feed you now. I bet you’re starving, you poor thing.”

 

He couldn’t quite decide what to make first. He stared at the things he’d picked up for a few minutes, before deciding to get it some warm milk first. Just a little bit. A large amount of milk could make a cat sick, he remembered from when he was young, but small amounts never hurt as much.  It was easier when they were young, too.  Plus, it’s little body was still shaking some, so Greg figured it could do with the warmth.

 

He poured milk into the saucer he’d bought and stuck it in the microwave.  It just needed a little bit of heat… It was as he was warming this up that he realized he and the kitten were no longer alone.  Behind him, he heard Mycroft clear his throat.

 

“What is going on in here, Gregory?” his partner asked, his voice stern and a bit skeptical.  Greg turned, seeing Mycroft regarding the kitten with an arched eyebrow, which mewed at him in response.

 

“Yeah, um,” Greg started, distracted as the microwave beeped at him.  He turned to pull the milk out, testing it to make sure it was only a bit warm and not scalding, before moving to set it in front of the kitten.  It wobbled over to the saucer eagerly, sniffing, before starting to drink. “The poor thing was at my crime scene tonight, Myc.  Out in the rain, shaking and wet to the bone. I couldn’t leave it there. It would’ve died.”

 

“So you decided to bring it home. Without consulting me, I might add.”

 

“I know, I’m sorry.  I needed to get it fed and dried off quickly, so I just kinda… acted.” Greg glanced down nervously, watching the kitten instead of looking at his boyfriend. He was irritated, as Greg expected, but still. 

 

Across the kitchen, Mycroft’s piercing eyes softened a bit as he continued to regard the older man.  With a sigh through his nose, he walked over to stand next to him, placing a slender hand on his shoulder.

 

“I can’t stand seeing you pout like that,” Mycroft muttered, glancing down to stare at the kitten.  It had finished drinking the milk and was now cleaning its paws. Greg blinked and looked up at him again.

 

“Does this mean we can keep him?” he asked, his brown eyes lighting up.  Mycroft looked at him pointedly.

 

“I never said that,” he started, and Greg’s shoulders fell slightly. “But, I’m not shutting the door on the conversation. Nurse the kitten back to health. We can give it a few days and see where we’re at, okay?”

 

Greg grinned, reaching to cup Mycroft’s cheek before sliding up on his toes to kiss him sweetly.

 

“Thank you,” he whispered against his lips. In front of them, the kitten mewed again, purring loudly.


	89. Don't Cut It

“I’m thinking about getting my hair cut,” Greg commented off-handedly as he stood in front of the bathroom mirror, clad in nothing except for the towel he’d just used to dry himself off after his shower. Mycroft was currently leaning on the doorframe with his arms crossed, admiring him, until the comment caused his expression to shift into surprise.

 

“Why?” he asked incredulously. Greg blinked, not having expected to hear him talk like that, and glanced over to look at him.

 

“I mean, it’s gonna start getting shaggy soon,” he said, turning back to the mirror and running his fingers through his dampened silvery strands.  He frowned slightly, not remembering the last time he’d let it get much longer than it was currently.  He was having to style it again some days, and it was almost more trouble than it was worth.

 

“When it gets shaggy, you can get a trim,” Mycroft commented, huffing.  Greg turned to look at him again, raising his eyebrows.

 

“Why’s it bothering you so much?” he asked curiously. “It’s just my hair, love.”

 

“I am aware of that,” Mycroft said, rolling his eyes. “That is precisely why it bothers me.  You’re hair is lovely, Gregory.”

 

“It’ll also grow back…” Greg pointed out, stepping away from the mirror.  Mycroft pushed off the doorframe and walked over to the older man, reaching up to run his slender fingers through his wet hair.

 

“Of course it will, but that’s months of me unable to do this,” he pointed out, continuing to run his fingers through Greg’s hair. He sighed, humming and closing his eye at the feeling of Mycroft’s nails running across his scalp. It felt so good.

 

“You could still do this,” he muttered softly, leaning into the touch and reaching out to rest a hand on Mycroft’s hip.

 

“Not as well,” Mycroft pointed out, leaning in and rubbing the tip of his long nose across Greg’s temple.  He slid his fingers down to lightly tease at the nape of Greg’s neck, where his hairline ended, and it sent a shiver down the man’s spine. Blinking his eyes open, his pupils were darkening his already dark brown eyes, and Mycroft smiled slyly.

 

“See,” he continued softly. “If you go and cut your hair, Gregory, how will I be able to make you feel good in this way? Hmm?”

 

Mycroft continued stroking through his hair, making sure to drag his manicured nails along the older man’s scalp in just the way he knew he liked it.  Greg responded how he always did: he let out the tiniest of groans, gripping a bit tighter onto Mycroft’s waist, and taking a step closer.  The towel that was secured around his waist did absolutely nothing to conceal how obviously turned on his was now.  Licking his lips, Mycroft leaned in and captured Greg’s mouth in a searing kiss. Greg clutched at him, kissing back roughly, pressing himself against Mycroft’s body.  They took a few steps back until they collided with the doorframe Mycroft had previously been leaning against.  The solid surface gave Greg the leverage he needed to press even harder against his partner and grind their hips together. Mycroft let out a surprised noise, gasping out of the kiss.

 

They gazed at each other with lidded eyes, panting softly, their mouths inches apart from each other.

 

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Greg growled. His hands moved up to start undoing the buttons of the waistcoast and dress shirt Mycroft was wearing. As he did, they slowly began to walk into their bedroom, barely severing body contact with each other. Greg let the towel fall from his waist, leaving him naked, and after undoing a few more articles of clothing, Mycroft’s suit was being slid off until he was also naked.

 

Greg fell back into the bed, sitting on the edge, and Mycroft climbed into his lap and straddled him.  Their erections lined up perfectly and Mycroft rolled his hips, causing both of them to moan at the friction.  Then, his slender hands were back up in Greg’s hair. This time, however, they gripped hard, yanking his head back to expose his tanned neck. Greg gasped, and then moaned as Mycroft started to suck and bite at his neck.  There was no doubt he’d be leaving marks. Greg shivered, arching his hips up so they could keep up the friction they’d started.

 

“And you want to cut your hair,” Mycroft snarled as he sucked on the sensitive skin he’d previously been biting on.

 

Yeah, maybe Greg wouldn’t be cutting it all off.


	90. You're Dieting Again

It was when they were out at dinner one night that Greg finally brought up something that had been on his mind for a little while now.  He was an observant man. He had to be, and he was damn good at it, regardless of what Sherlock said.  So to notice how Mycroft was taking no more than half portions of food, whether it was when they were out at dinner, or at home cooking, was a bit confusing and concerning.  Mycroft had a good, healthy appetite, and yet… Greg had never seen him really show that.

 

“Hey Myc,” he said about halfway through their meal. The younger man glanced up and raised his eyebrows a hair.

 

“Yes, Gregory?” he asked softly, putting his fork down. Abandoning the pasta he’d barely touched.

 

“You’re hardly eating anything,” he brought up. He’d noticed it especially over the past few weeks, and he gazed at his partner with concern.   Mycroft lifted a hand and waved it slightly, shaking his head.

 

“I am fine, before you ask,” Mycroft started. “I am just dieting, Gregory, so I am limited to my portion size.”

 

 _Dieting_. It made sense, because the younger man did it a lot.  It had been a bit of a surprise.  Greg found, over the course of time the two of them had become intimate, that there was a lot about him that was surprising.  This one, though, he just didn’t understand.  Mycroft was healthy, so it wasn’t that.  He didn’t have a weight issue, so it wasn’t that either.  It just… didn’t make all the sense in the world.

 

“Love, why must you insist on dieting all the time?” he asked softly, not wanting to sound offensive in his question. He wasn’t trying to be. He was just genuinely curious. “Where did this all start?”

 

At this, Mycroft grew still.  Greg was concerned he had upset him, and froze, opening his mouth to say something to make it better… He watched as Mycroft picked up his napkin and dabbed it along his lips, before setting it on the table in front of him. Piercing blue eyes slid up to lock with his brown ones, a serious expression on his face.

 

“It started with you,” Mycroft said softly.   There was no doubting the truth behind the words he had just uttered.  Greg’s eyes widened, and he blinked.

 

“M-me?” he asked, seeking confirmation that he hadn’t misheard.  Mycroft nodded.

 

“Yes, Gregory.  You,” Mycroft nodded, speaking calmly. “When it became clear to me that you were more than a simple Detective, when you were more than an associate of my brother’s… I found I wanted to be fit for you.  Not that I ever considered myself a heavy individual, but being heavy and being out of shape are two completely separate things.  So I decided to put myself on a strict regiment, and it has stuck.”

 

There was more to it, more that wasn’t being said. Greg didn’t know that Mycroft didn’t want to abandon the regiment because he had convinced himself that if he began gaining weight, Greg wouldn’t find him attractive anymore. It was a thought that terrified the younger Holmes, so much so that there was no way he’d say it out loud. The logical part of his mind fussed, because of course Greg wouldn’t care if he gained a little weight. Of course he’d still wanted to drag him to bed and undress him, both carefully and in haste. However, as he’d come to learn in their time together, love did not always equal logic.

 

“You know I love you, right?” Greg asked softly after a few minutes.  Mycroft blinked, seeming surprised by the exclamation.

 

“Of course,” he nodded, tilting his head slightly.

 

“Just… I don’t care how much you weigh. You’re my partner, my lover, and I’m proud of that.  No matter what you look like. You’re bloody handsome.”

 

Mycroft’s cheeks felt heated, and turned a tiny shade of pink.  Glancing down, he picked his fork back up and began pushing his pasta around on his plate.

 

“Thank you, Gregory,” he mumbled. Smiling softly, Greg leaned over the table and gently lifted his head.

 

“You will _always_ be the sexiest man I’ve ever known, and you are always going to drive me crazy with desire.”

 

He leaned in, kissing Mycroft quickly, but sweetly. Then, he brushed his fingers along his cheek and down his jaw, before settling back in to finish his meal. He planned on showing his lover later just how irresistible he was.


	91. April Fool's Day

Greg braced himself for the day he expected to be having today.  It was more difficult than normal waking up, and Mycroft just laughed at him as he walked around the house sluggishly with his coffee.  It was easy for him to be amused.  He’d only be dealing with Anthea all day, and if she did April Fool’s Day pranks, Greg would be surprised.

 

His co-workers, on the other hand, lived for the bloody day.  It was always chaos in his division of the Yard each year, grown men and women doing some of the dumbest things to each other, and he could never seem to escape it. And boy, were they dumb. They were high school glue-things-to-the-seat dumb and switch-out-your-coffee dumb.  He’d been a victim of the coffee type of prank last year, and he wasn’t able to get the taste of fish out of his mouth for a _week_.

 

He’d made it more than clear through the span of the previous week that he was not to encounter any of these pranks himself this year.  It had been a very intimidating stance he had decided to take, making it more than clear he wanted to have a normal day, and he only hoped that it came across as genuine. It was meant to.

 

He glanced around warily as he walked into the office that morning.  He could tell some stuff had already been done; Anderson’s belongings had all been glued to his desk, and someone had taken one of the offices and turned everything over. Wow.  His own office seemed to be untouched, at least at first glance. He brought coffee from home, not trusting what was brewed there this morning, and he took a deep breath as he settled into his chair.

 

  1.   He was pleasantly surprised.  He didn’t drop his guard, however, for the majority of the day.  Thankfully, though, nothing ended up happening. He went through the workday unscathed. He was grateful as he was driving home, because that was the end of it.  There was no way Mycroft would do anything for April Fool’s, so he was good to go for the rest of the night.  A quiet night in was all he wanted anyway, so he could feel his mood lifting and returning to normal.



 

He sighed in relief as he stepped inside his home, listening to the sounds of Mycroft moving nearby.  His smile widened.  It was rare they were both home at this hour, so that was a nice surprise. He was greeted with a soft smile as he entered the kitchen, and the taller man walked over to kiss him on the cheek.

 

“I trust your day passed without incident?” he asked, smoothing a hand down Greg’s front before taking a step back to retrieve the cup of tea he’d just made for himself.  Greg nodded.

 

“Yes, amazingly.  It seems everyone actually listened to me for once.”

 

“Good,” Mycroft nodded, leaning and drinking his tea quietly.  As Greg moved to get into the fridge, he noticed a manila folder sitting on the countertop with **Lestrade** written messily on it.  He blinked.

 

“What is this?” he asked, pointing at the folder and raising his eyebrows.  He was already walking over and picking it up before Mycroft could respond.

 

“Gregory, I wouldn’t open that if-“ Mycroft started to say just as Greg opened the folder.  His eyes widened at the unexpected sight, and his face blushed with embarrassment and fury, before slamming it shut again.

 

“ _Jesus_ ,” he huffed. “Out of all the people to pull an April Fool’s joke. Your _brother_?” Greg shouted, waving the folder. “How the hell did John let him do that?”

 

“I did try to warn you,” Mycroft pointed out, sipping his tea.

 

Greg shuddered.  The folder, which had disguised itself as information on a recent case Sherlock had become a part of, ended up being photos.  Very…sexual photos, of him and John.  He just… _Why?_

“He is immature,” Mycroft scoffed, answering the question Greg hadn’t quite voiced outloud.

 

“I need to bleach my brain,” he sighed, shuddering. He had never wanted to see Sherlock Holmes’ O Face.  Nope. Coulda done without that. It took him a few minutes to recover, but then he got an idea.  A very evil idea.  Greg started to smirk.

 

“Whatever you are thinking,” Mycroft said, arching his eyebrow. “Do not.”

 

“Oh, but Myc.  It’s only fair.  He wants to play dirty? We can play dirty.” Pulling out his mobile, Greg walked over to stand in front of Mycroft and leaned in, mindful of his teacup, to brush the tips of their noses together.

 

“I’ll have no part in this,” Mycroft huffed.

 

“Please?” Greg asked, batting his eyelashes. Finally, after a bit more begging and persuading, he sighed in irritation but agreed.

 

“ **One** photo, understand?  One.”

 

Greg nodded, pulling up the camera on his mobile and sliding to his knees in front of Mycroft, smirking.

 

“One is all I’ll need.”


	92. Exciting Breakfast

Greg hated that banana.  He hated it and loved it all at the same time. He was fucking _jealous_ of that banana.  He leaned back in his chair and licked his lips, holding his coffee up to his chest as he admired the sight in front of him.  Mycroft had been eating smaller breakfasts as of late, usually toast or some kind of fruit, and on the weekends a bowl of oatmeal. He’d been attempting to eat healthier, and while Greg didn’t normally join him, he was immensely pleased this morning.

 

Whether Mycroft realized it or not, he was being immensely sexual with the banana he was currently having.  It didn’t help that it was a very phallic fruit and Greg couldn’t help but think about him running his tongue around something else. He shifted in his seat, staring over the rim of his coffee mug, and parting his knees a bit as his trousers were becoming tighter than they normally were.

 

“ _Jesus_ ,” he breathed as Mycroft started sliding the banana into his mouth. He wasn’t as quiet as he’d attempted to be, however, because Mycroft looked up at him at this.

 

“All right, Gregory?” he asked, arching his eyebrow in his normal, delicate way.

 

“Y-yeah,” Greg said, shifting his gaze down to his coffee mug and coughing slightly.  He could feel his cheeks heat up in a blush.  He glanced up again as he saw Mycroft lower the banana and run his tongue along his lower lip. 

 

It was almost too much for Greg to handle. He bit his lip as he tried not to groan, and then took a minute to look at the clock on their stovetop. Neither man had to be anywhere for at least half an hour, and Greg couldn’t hold it back anymore. He set his mug down on the table and pushed his chair back, causing Mycroft to look up at him in surprise again.

 

“Gregory?” he asked, pale eyes widening as Greg walked over to him and shifted the table away.  Greg reached out and plucked the banana out of his hand and dropped in on the table, and then crawled into Mycroft’s lap.  His pupils were blown wide, making his normal browns a lot darker, and Mycroft blinked as he put two and two together.

 

“You can’t expect to sit there and do things like that and not have me do something about it,” he growled, leaning down to kiss and bite along the younger man’s jaw lightly.  Mycroft’s breath hitched in his throat and a hand shifted to grab at Greg’s hip gently.

 

“G-greory,” he started, tilting his head back instinctively so he had more access to his pale neck.  He cleared his throat, shifting in his chair. “Gregory, you need to go soon.”

 

“Not too soon,” Greg whispered against his neck. “Besides, how can I leave when you need to help me do something about _this_?”

 

To emphasize, he rolled his hips down as he spoke, brushing them together and creating the most glorious kind of friction between them.  Mycroft groaned softly, arching up into him a bit.

 

“That is a problem,” he couldn’t help but comment. Greg grinned widely.

 

“It sure is.  So why don’t you solve my problem, yeah?”

 

“You’re so crude,” Mycroft laughed, but even as he did, his hand was slipping up under Greg’s undershirt.  He slid it up his smooth back and slipped around, brushing the tips of his fingers across Greg’s nipples.  They were sensitive, and it had Greg gasping and shivering.

 

“Myc,” he huffed, growling and rocking his hips again. “You’re so damn sexy.”

 

Both men were panting softly now, tugging at each other’s shirts as a slight sense of urgency overcame them. They started kissing roughly, sucking and biting at each other’s lips hard enough to make their breath hitch as they pressed against each other.

 

“Gregory…” Mycroft gasped, moving his hands foreword to fumble with the buttons on Greg’s trousers.  Greg broke their kiss and leaned back enough to start doing the same, until both of them had undone and shifted their trousers down enough so that Greg could take both of them into his hand a stroke slowly. Mycroft moaned, arching up against him, creating more friction between them and making them both tremble.

 

They rutted against each other, panting harshly and moaning.  Greg kissed Mycroft deeply, slipping his tongue in and against the younger man’s, sucking and trembling.  They continued, their motions becoming more erratic and their breaths becoming harsher and more needy. Greg swiped his thumb along their tips, twitching at the sensitivity and whimpering.

 

“G-gregory, I’m…” Mycroft gasped into his mouth.

 

“A-and me,” Greg nodded, panting and burying his face into Mycroft’s neck to lick and nip along his pulse point. After a brief moment, Mycroft thought to reach out and grab a napkin to push between them, groaning and freezing as his orgasm washed over him.  Greg’s came almost immediately after, the two men clutching to each other desperately. After a quiet moment, Greg started huffing out laughter.  Mycroft blinked, but started grinning, and finally broke out into laughter of his own.

 

“That… was _spontaneous_ ,” Mycroft decided on saying, before giggling again. It was adorable listening to him giggle. Greg poked his tongue out before leaning in to brush their noses together.

 

“S’what you get for eating that banana like that,” he huffed again, before leaning in for a gentle kiss.

 

“We should get ready for our days now,” Mycroft whispered after a moment, reaching up to brush his slender fingers through Greg’s silvery hair.  Greg closed his eyes and hummed.

 

“Yes, I’m definitely ready for the day now,” he grinned.


	93. A Different Kind of Bath

“Come on Gregory,” Mycroft coaxed gently, tugging on the older man and forcing him to sit up.  Greg groaned weakly in response, his eyes unfocused and his brow furrowed.

 

“W’re we goin?” Greg mumbled, blinking sluggishly. “Ws’wrong?”

 

Mycroft huffed through his nose and ran his slender fingers through sweat-dampened silver hair.  It was very concerning how high of a temperature the older man currently had. What were even more concerning were the hallucinations he’d been having over the course of the past half hour, and the slight slurring in his speech.  If they weren’t able to get it down soon, he would have to be admitted to the hospital.

 

Mycroft was trying everything in his power to prevent it from getting that far.  He had attempted to keep Greg as hydrated as possible, which thankfully wasn’t _too_ difficult of a task. He wouldn’t stop sweating, however. It was covering his forehead and neck, and his shirt was completely soaked.

 

“We,” he started to answer as he took Greg’s shirt by the hem and tugged it off him, leaving him bare chested and shivering for a brief second. “Are getting you in the bath.”

 

“Now now,” Greg grinned, swaying slightly where he sat. “M’not gonna be able t’ perform as well as normal.”

 

Mycroft rolled his eyes and sighed, moving to wrap Greg’s arm around his shoulders and lift him up.  He wrapped his other arm around the older man’s waist and supported him fully, which was more difficult a task as he’d originally thought, and started to slowly move them out of the bedroom and towards the bathroom.

 

“It can’t be too dire if you’re able to make dirty jokes,” Mycroft smirked, trying to keep Greg’s attention as best he could. The last thing he needed was for him to pass out as they were making the trip down the hall.  That would get very complicated.

 

Finally, after what was really far too long, they were stepping into the bathroom.  Mycroft led Greg over and lowered him gently to sit on the toilet. He swayed for a moment before steadying himself, and attempted to watch as Mycroft moved around the small space. His reaction time wasn’t quick enough, however, so he took to staring at the floor instead.

 

Mycroft leaned over the edge of the bathtub, turning the water on and monitoring its’ temperature very closely. Too cold and it would be a shock to his very weak and heated system.  Too warm would not bring down his temperature, and could even end up making him just pass out.  It was a very specific procedure, but thankfully Mycroft was a very specific individual. It took a few adjustments but then it was finally at a decent, lukewarm temperature that would be most ideal, so he let it fill up the tub as he straightened and went about taking off his waistcoat and shirt.

 

“Getting’ in too?” Greg asked softly, raising his eyebrows a fraction in curiosity as he gazed at Mycroft’s now bare chest.

 

“Yes,” Mycroft nodded, unbuttoning his trousers and pulling them down so that he was just in his pants. “I cannot risk letting you sit in there alone and passing out.  So I will be sitting there with you.”

 

“Y’re th’best,” Greg sighed, glancing over at the half-full tub.  Slow hands moved to try and undo his own trousers pants, but he didn’t get very far. His body was behaving much as it did when he was intoxicated, except this was much less fun.  Walking over, Mycroft crouched and gently batted his hands away so he could do it himself.

 

After a while, they were both finally unclothed. Mycroft reached over to turn off the faucet completely, and then wrapped his arm back around Greg for support as they made their way over and stepped into the tub.  Mycroft lowered both of them, settling against the back of the tub and pulling Greg to rest against his body.  The sick man sighed, his body shaking as it tried to adjust to the temperature.  Mycroft worked on cupping water into his hands and running it along his neck, and then brushing his forehead, wiping away the sweat that had been collecting.

 

“Dunno what I’do without you. Th’nk you,” Greg mumbled drowsily, sighing as he leaned against Mycroft.  The younger man smiled.

 

“It is my vow to take care of you Gregory,” he whispered into his partner’s ear. “Now let’s focus on getting that fever down and getting you better.”


	94. Baking Together

Ever since Greg was young, he’d loved to bake.  His father was a chef - a French chef at that - so he learned all kinds of ways to cook before most people could understand how a stove operated.  He’d helped his da in the kitchen practically every other night, having been dubbed his Junior Chef, and when other teenagers were getting crap jobs at a fast food joint or the local grocer, Greg was helping run the kitchen of the Lestrade-owned restaurant.

 

He loved cooking.  He adored baking.  It was one of his favorite hobbies.  When he’d been blessed with two kids, it had been immensely exciting to bake for them as much as humanly possible.  He spoiled those girls with his cakes and pastries.  When he had separated with his cheating wife and no longer living with them day in and day out, he sort of stopped.  It was no fun baking for yourself.  It grew old, and _fast_.

 

One of the exciting things when he started dating Mycroft (one of the MANY exciting things) was that he had someone to bake for again.  It wasn’t long before his chef tendencies were itching to be put to good use.  When they started becoming serious enough that dinners happened more frequently in one of their flats as opposed to a restaurant, Greg really let himself flourish.  He was proud, and Mycroft loved every bit of it, and even surprised him with cooking prowess of his own.

 

When it came to baking, however, he found Mycroft to be a bit more reserved.  Always denying things, even though it was clear he had interest in them.  Greg recalled many times Sherlock would bring up his big brother’s weight, and it made him wonder if it was really something Mycroft was concerned about and not just a brotherly low blow.

 

It took until they moved in together a year and a half after they started dating for Mycroft to open up to Greg’s desserts.  It was brilliant when that happened.  He felt giddy and excited again.  He loved baking for Mycroft.  He loved even more, however, when…

 

“Love, you’ve got something on your nose,” Greg giggled.  Mycroft blinked and glanced down, as if attempting to see the edge of his nose, where a puff of flower had gotten on it.  It was absolutely adorable.

 

Yes.  Greg fucking loved it when Mycroft baked **with** him.

 

The politician paused from where he was rolling out pastry dough and glanced around for something to wipe his nose off with.  Rolling his eyes playfully, Greg reached over with his cleaner hand and just rubbed it off with his thumb.

 

“I was going to get it, Gregory,” Mycroft huffed, but he was smiling anyway.  Greg smirked.

 

“You know baking is a messy task, Myc.  You should embrace your flowery chaos.”

 

“I never embrace chaos,” Mycroft said, arching an eyebrow.

 

It was Elizabeth’s birthday this weekend, Greg’s oldest daughter.  She was turning seventeen and it made Greg feel insanely old.  Tomorrow morning, she and Greg other daughter, Abby, were coming to stay with them for a few days so they could celebrate.  Mycroft had brought up helping make her cake.  Greg had been eager to agree, throwing in a few pastries she’d grown up loving.

 

When they baked together, there was a playfulness that emerged that was less common in their day to day.  Sure, the two men had fun with each other all the time.  It was fascinating how different their demeanor could change when they did this.

 

Once the cake had been put into the oven, the two of them started on the icing.  Greg grew up making his own icing.  His da had refused to ever use store-bought, so Greg in turn was the same way.  They mixed and whipped the icing, getting to where it was forming nicely, and Mycroft twitched as some flew out of the bowl and hit his cheek.

 

“Love, you’ve got something there,” Greg laughed. “Here, let me.”

 

He started to reach out as if he was going to wipe off the icing, but very quickly his finger dipped into the bowl and gathered up more icing, before smearing it onto Mycroft’s long nose.  Pale eyes widened in disbelief and the younger man’s mouth all but dropped open, shock evident in his features.  Greg only laughed harder.

 

It started with a glare that turned into a smirk, and then Mycroft’s hand was in the bowl too.  Reaching out himself, he shoved a glob of icing along Greg’s forehead.  The loud laughter stopped as it was Greg’s turn to gape, and Mycroft’s to laugh.

 

“Oh, you’re in for it now,” Greg said, grabbing at the bowl and smearing icing down Mycroft’s neck.  They kept switching back and fourth, practically attacking each other and both laughing hard, until their faces and necks were covered in icing.  It was even in both men’s hair.  Their laughter started to die down a bit, both still grinning, and breathing slightly heavier.

 

“You’re absurd,” Mycroft panted, sticking his finger in his mouth and licking off the icing there.  He didn’t miss the way Greg stared, eyes widening a bit.

 

“You’re one to talk,” Greg chuckled.  Stepping close, he leaned in and licked the icing off Mycroft’s nose. “Mmmm.  Delicious.”


	95. Greg's A Proud Father

The last time Greg was this emotional, it had to be the day that he and Mycroft got married.  He wasn’t one to ever get intensely emotional, unless under very dire circumstances.  This… He supposed this classified as a dire circumstance.  He was a father, a very proud father, and his oldest daughter was going off to university.  She had gotten a full ride to basically anywhere she wanted, and she had found one in bloody Scotland that she was going to.  She was flying out in the morning, so he and Mycroft had taken the girls for the night.

 

He’d see her in the morning.  Due to his ex-wife’s work schedule, he and Mycroft were taking her to the airport.  This wasn’t goodbye. Yet, trying to just let his daughter go to bed was proving to be a lot more difficult than he’d expected.

 

“Da, I can’t go to sleep if you don’t let me go,” Elizabeth said, chuckling softly as Greg was hugging her tightly. He squeezed his eyes shut, swearing he wouldn’t start crying, and he huffed through his nose.

 

“I know, I’m sorry,” he finally said, attempting to will himself to let go.  It was still a few more seconds before he followed through on it, though. He gazed at his girl, all grown up, and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.  She beamed up at him in a smile she very clearly inherited from him.

 

“Are you gonna cry?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

 

“No, don’t be silly,” Greg said, but it was obvious he was lying.  He huffed again. “I can’t help it.  You’re off to uni, Lizzie. In _Scotland_.”

 

“We’ll Skype all the time, you know that,” she said, patting his arm gently. “Now c’mon da, I’m tired.  We can do all this again in the morning, I promise.”

 

She winked playfully, and pushed up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek.  He did the same and rubbed her back, and finally let her go before he could start hugging her again.  He sniffed as she left, and turned to where Mycroft was sitting nearby.  Greg could feel his eyes prickling a bit as he walked over and practically fell into his husband’s lap.  The younger man raised his eyebrow, but it was clear he had been expecting the action, and his long arms went around him and pulled him close.

 

“All right?” he asked softly, knowing the exact answer. Greg sniffed again and shook his head.

 

“I just…” he started, huffing as he tried not to start crying.  Really, he should pull himself together. “Uni, Myc.”

 

“Yes, you have said multiple times tonight,” Mycroft nodded, reaching up to stroke Greg’s silvery hair gently. “It will be fine. Besides, she will be back during holidays.  Christmas will be here before you know it.”

 

“Yeah, I guess,” Greg sighed, lowering his head and burying into Mycroft’s neck.  His husband began rubbing his back soothingly, and it slowly started to help in relaxing him.  He was so wound up over it all, so proud and excited for her, and so upset all at the same time.

 

“Dear Abigail is taking it easier than you, Gregory,” Mycroft chuckled.  His tone was endearing, and teasing, and it actually did help Greg to feel better. He chuckled too.

 

“Yeah, I know.  You heard her saying she was going to sell all of Lizzie’s things on eBay?” he asked, nuzzling into Mycroft’s neck.

 

“I did.  Abigail is a smart one, seeing an opportunity like that.”

 

Greg lifted his head and gaped at Mycroft, who blinked before laughing.

 

“Oh come on, it was a joke.  Kind of.”

 

“When you make jokes, it scares me,” Greg said warily. He grinned and nudged him in the side, though.  Mycroft rolled his eyes.

 

“Let us go to bed as well.  You will need your rest if you are able to handle tomorrow morning,” Mycroft said, kissing Greg’s forehead.  Together, they stood and made their way to the bedroom, their fingers threaded together loosely.

 

“Thanks,” Greg said, tugging Mycroft to a halt once they were inside.  He stepped in close and wrapped his arms around him, sighing. “For helping make me feel better. I’m gonna need a lot of it tomorrow.”

 

“I know, darling husband,” Mycroft whispered, kissing the top of his head. “I’ll be right there with you.”


	96. Morning Run

Mycroft’s exercise routines had mainly consisted of his treadmill before he and Greg started to exercise together. They had used the treadmill at first, but as it was built for one person, it was rather counterproductive for them to switch back and fourth while the other stood around.  So, they decided to start running together, early in the mornings, before either man had to go to work.

 

Their home was near a park, and it was the perfect setting for them.  Plus, they would set out early enough that the park was usually barren.  Mycroft preferred it this way.  He wore his tracksuit because it was most suitable for running, but it was not something he ever desired regular people to see him in. Greg tended to run in sweatpants and, depending on the weather, a t-shirt or a tanktop. This morning was more brisk, so a shirt it was.

 

Of course, Mycroft never really saw Greg as they ran. The older man tended to… fall behind. Greg was in shape, mind, but until they had started these runs, most of his exercising came from working cases. He’d never really done any extra curricular exercise.  Mycroft tended to drift into his own mind as he ran, and so he would end up setting his own pace that was faster than his partners’ without even thinking about it.

 

After they had made one lap around the track in the park, Mycroft slowed and turned to find the other man. Greg slowed as he caught up, sweat lining his forehead and neck, panting slightly.  His silver hair had darkened a bit, and he leaned over to press his hands against his knees.  Mycroft arched an eyebrow and smirked slightly.

 

“All right?” he asked, chuckling a bit. Greg lifted his head and huffed a bit.

 

“You can stop laughing now,” he said breathlessly. “You’re tough to keep up with, you know.”

 

“And yet you try every day.  You are rather persistent, Gregory.  It’s an honourable quality.”

 

“Har har, hush it,” Greg said, standing up straight and stretching his arms out behind his back.  Mycroft shook his head.

 

“Darling, do not think I am mocking you in the slightest,” he said, running his slender fingers through his hair to move back a few strands that had fallen along his forehead. “Do you want to do another lap, or head home?  We have time for either.”

 

Greg shook his head, waving limply.

 

“One more lap.  C’mon Myc, let’s go.”

 

He took off running again, and Mycroft watched for a moment before starting back up.  He caught up easily, his long legs closing the distance without having to put fourth too much effort, but this time he kept his pace slower so that they continued to run side by side for a while.  They talked a bit, as much as they were allowed while breathing heavily as they ran.  Greg talked about his upcoming day, and the current case.  Mycroft, as usual, was not able to return the favor, but it bothered neither of them.

 

Once they finally made that second lap, they decided to head on back home.  They walked the rest of the way back; it was the only time Mycroft wouldn’t insist they take one of the cars anywhere.  They were out and running anyway, so what harm would it do?  Plus, the park was close enough that it didn’t take them long to get home.

 

As they stepped inside and shut the door, Greg was peeling his shirt off instantly.  Mycroft paused in his movements, admiring the contours and muscles of his back with an appreciative smile.  Greg looked over his shoulder and grinned as he caught him staring.

 

“Wanna shower with me?” he asked playfully, turning to walk over to Mycroft and reach out for his hand.  Mycroft’s heart was pounding, recovering from the run, but there was a heat in his cheeks he couldn’t deny.

 

“I do believe that would be lovely,” he said, reaching out to take Greg’s hand and squeeze.  Their shared showers was honestly the best part about them exercising together. Mycroft would always insist. After all, there really was no better way to start the day.


	97. Dorm Kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teen AU

“ _Gregory_ ,” Mycroft hissed quietly. “You need to get out of here.  We will most certainly get caught, and you know how they get about sneaking into rooms this late.”

 

“Eh, it’ll be fine,” Greg waved his hand in the air, crawling across Mycroft’s dorm bed and picking up the book the other teen had in his lap.  Very quickly, he replaced said book with himself, straddling his boyfriend’s lap and grinning.

 

Mycroft gave him a familiar stern look, one that Greg used to feel uncomfortable with but had learned as they started dating how to get around.  He knew how to make the other teen’s resolve crumble.  He also knew that Mycroft allowed him to.  They had a weakness for each other, though neither teen would admit it. Leaning in, Greg rubbed his nose against Mycroft’s jaw, breathing hotly against his neck.  Mycroft shivered.

 

“I need to study for my A Levels,” the younger teen muttered, gripping Greg’s waist slightly.

 

“No you don’t,” Greg muttered against Mycroft’s skin, nipping playfully. “You’re already taking them early anyway. Besides, you’ll ace ‘em.”

 

“That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be s-studying, Gregory,” Mycroft managed to say, stammering as the older teen started sucking on his jaw a bit.  He groaned, and Greg knew he had won.  He so did love to win out over course work.  It was quite a triumph when dating a Holmes.

 

Playful fingers slipped under the uniform shirt Mycroft was still wearing, teasing the pale skin that was hidden underneath. The grip on his waist tightened and Mycroft huffed out a breath, half because it tickled and half because it felt so good.  Greg lifted his head to gaze into his boyfriend’s pale eyes, which had darkened slightly, and grinned.

 

“If my dormmate comes back, this is all on you. So you are aware,” Mycroft pointed out, arching an eyebrow.  Greg shrugged.

 

“Let ‘im watch.  It would be quite the show.”

 

“You are ridiculous,” Mycroft sighed, rolling his eyes but unable to keep the smile from sliding onto his lips as he tilted his head back.  Greg took the hint and dove in to kiss him passionately.  Mycroft’s fingers twitched, and started playing with the kit shirt Greg was still wearing, before pushing it up.  Greg shivered slightly as his stomach was exposed to the air of the room, and he sucked on Mycroft’s bottom lip gently.  One of Mycroft’s hands flew up into Greg’s black hair, tugging almost roughly and causing the older teen to groan.

 

Mycroft grew more confident with each kiss and tug and pant.  Greg loved how he coaxed his boyfriend out of his reserved shell and brought out this intense, almost controlling side of him.  It was something they shared and he could think of while everyone else thought he was a quiet, stuck up virgin.  Fuck no he wasn’t. He had a habit of taking control. Much like he was doing now.

 

Before Greg knew it, he was on his back and Mycroft had tugged his kit off him, leaving him bare chested and clutching at him. They kissed until neither of them could breathe, and when they parted Mycroft’s lips were against his neck. Greg arched up, tilting his head back, and Mycroft took the opportunity to reach even more of him.

 

Just as Greg was moving to take Mycroft’s shirt off as well, fumbling with the top two buttons, a sound came from the door. Both of them froze, and immediately Mycroft was off of him and almost completely across the room. Because _that_ wasn’t conspicuous.  Greg fumbled with his kit, trying to tug it back on, and barely made it as Mycroft’s dorm mate entered.

 

“Evening Greg,” the other boy greeted. Greg nodded, sitting in such a way that attempted to hide his very obvious erection.

 

“Hey Scott,” he said in return, before shifting his eyes to Mycroft.  The younger teen had grabbed one of his random textbooks off his desk and opened it and a random page, setting it on his lap as he stared at it without reading. Greg grinned a bit. It was impressive.

 

The adrenaline thrummed through him, and he saw as a smirk twitched on Mycroft’s face.  Yeah… The events that would follow once the other boy was gone again were going to be brilliant.


	98. Past Casual Arrangement

“Sir, I have those top priority reports and profiles ready for you,” Anthea announced as she entered the room. She had a folder in one hand and her Blackberry in the other, which was held in front of her as she texted away (her normal state).  She gazed up from the phone briefly enough to see a shocked flurry of limbs that made her raise her eyebrows in amusement.

 

“Oy!” Greg was shouting, grabbing at the duvet to tug over himself.  His eyes were wide with surprise and panic, face flushed with slight embarrassment and immense arousal.  He and Mycroft had just been rocking against each other, on the verge of initiating a round of sex, when Anthea had wandered in unannounced.  Mycroft, of course, looked very unruffled by the disturbance (only by Greg having gripped at his hair and biting his neck). He made no move to cover up, and with a huff, Greg grabbed another part of the duvet and tossed it over him as well.

 

“Ah, thank you Anthea.  You may leave them on the table there,” Mycroft was instructing, gesturing towards their bedside table.  Panting softly, Greg groaned.

 

“Am I really the only one feeling a bit intruded upon and exposed right now?” he asked heatedly.  They were stark nude for Christ sake.  He had no doubt Anthea had seen everything.

 

“I suppose you must,” Anthea shrugged, her attention shifting back mostly to her Blackberry.  Greg’s shoulders slumped in a sigh. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

 

“Yeah, but, _still_. We were in the middle of something, obviously.  Same anatomy or not, it was Myc and I, and I just-“

 

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” Anthea repeated, looking pointedly at her boss from over her mobile. Greg blinked, and after a second, it dawned on him what she was suggesting.

 

“Wait.  You… I mean…” he started, trying to force himself to phrase what he was thinking. “You’ve seen… What, during an assignment or something?”

 

There was the obvious way Anthea had seen Mycroft naked before.  That, however, wasn’t the way his brain decided to go right out of the gate.  Mycroft shook his head at the question, however, and Greg started to slide in that direction.  His dark brown eyes widened a bit.

 

“You two?” he asked, gesturing between them. “When??”

 

“Six years ago.  Casual arrangement, nothing romantically involved,” Anthea answered, her eyes glued to her mobile screen. “Respect and stress relief, mainly. And yes, the pleasure of one another’s company, but nothing complicated.  I don’t do that sort of thing.”

 

Greg’s jaw dropped.  He knew he was gaping, and he really couldn’t care. Mycroft and Anthea had made love before. No, he supposed basic sex would really be what to call it.  Mycroft made love with _him_.  It was all sex, sure, but the meaning behind the terms differed. However, that didn’t change the fact that they’d had sex.  On more than one occasion it seemed like. 

 

“Wow,” he found himself saying. He sounded stupid, but he was truly baffled.  Definitely hadn’t expected that one.

 

“Well, I’ll be off,” Anthea sighed. “I’m going to the office and then home for the evening.  I’ll see you in the morning, sir.  Good night, Greg.”

 

Without another word, she left. Alone, the bedroom was still silent, as Greg was still feeling a bit stunned.  Not to mention definitely no longer in the mood.  The scare they’d had as she burst in made sure of that.

 

“You and Anthea,” he repeated, blinking and glancing at Mycroft.

 

“Indeed,” Mycroft nodded. “It was as she said, of course.  I felt it was of no consequence, which is why I never mentioned it.  Apologies if it has upset you in any way”

 

“Wow,” Greg repeated. “No, just… didn’t expect that is all.”

 

Mycroft hummed, smiling softly. He turned his head to glance at the folder that was left, but made no move to pick it up like Greg was half expecting.  Instead, he was reaching over for the older man and tugging him closer.

 

“Shall we start over?” he asked seductively. Shock to the system or not, Greg felt himself shiver.

 

“Y-yeah,” he managed.  They really would have to start over, but he didn’t see it being much of a problem.  Mycroft smirked and leaned in, capturing his lips in a rough, passionate kiss.


	99. Undercover Work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The words spoken by Greg in this are actual lines of Rupert's in the movie Intimate Relations. A Tumblr post inspired this specific plot to use those lines. ;)

Mycroft was reclined in his chair in the office, switching between different CCTV feeds and tracking movements. There was a case he was working on that Greg had become a part of, partially because Sherlock had refused, as usual, and partially because parts of the case had come across his division. Mycroft hadn’t been very happy about it to begin with, but his partner was a stubborn man, and with Sherlock’s equally stubborn insistence to stay out of it, he agreed. They were tracking four terrorists that were working together and had infiltrated different areas of London. Two of them had slipped inside of the major news outlets, and the others were switching back and fourth between banks and areas close to Buckingham palace.

 

Mycroft couldn’t quite work out their goals, yet. It was infuriating. Not everything lined up enough to where it all made sense and painted the bigger picture yet. He currently had six theories, and Greg had gone undercover to try and bring out information that would hopefully cut that number in half.

 

There were screens depicting each of the terrorists, but Mycroft’s attentions were mostly on the one that Greg was interacting with.  It was a younger Russian man, 35 years of age, and as the Detective Inspector said was lucky for them, very gay.  Mycroft didn’t see how it was lucky.  He knew exactly what his partner was getting at, but that was not lucky.  It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he huffed and glared at the CCTV footage.

 

He was jealous.  Greg was more than likely going to have to seduce the Russian to gain all the proper information.  The intelligence Anthea had gathered led them to that conclusion, and Mycroft agreed it would be the most effective means of attaining what they needed.  That didn’t mean he had to like it.  He very much did NOT like it, in fact.  He honestly would’ve preferred not to watch it, but at the same time, he trusted no one else to view the events and make sure they got everything they needed, so there they were.

 

He watched the footage of the inside of a bar, where the Russian was sitting in a corner.  They had tracked him here after the terrorist had left a warehouse; a rendezvous point Mycroft noticed they had established.  Once Greg gained the information they needed, they would be able to infiltrate that warehouse properly, which would ultimately take all four of them down. 

 

He watched as Greg made his way over to the table and slid down next to him.  This was not the first time he had made contact, but this encounter was key. Things were going according to plan, and his darling partner had the terrorist right where he needed him. Leaning forward on his desk, Mycroft folding his hands together and listened closely.  They had worked on attaching microphones where they needed to be so Mycroft could listen in on the conversation, and it was working rather well. They had him now.

 

“Now tell me you don’t lie in bed and _imagine me_ ,” Greg was saying.  He could barely be made out over the background noise of the bar, but at least it was quieter than a normal busy night so Mycroft could make everything out.  He frowned, hating having to hear this, but needing to.  As rational as he was, he very irrationally got jealous over this. But it was just undercover work. He needed to focus on that. The Russian man was also leaning forward in interest, his eyes locked on the dark browns of Greg’s.

 

“Pressing against you.  _Naked_. Even with your eyes closed you can still see me, can’t you?” Greg reached up and brushed his palm from the man’s forehead to his nose, causing the man to close his eyes.  He dropped his voice seductively. “Every detail, the heat of my breath on your cheek.  The shape of my mouth.  The smoothness of my skin.”

 

Mycroft’s eyes fluttered closed before he realized. He focused on his boyfriend’s voice, leaning closer, listening.

 

“Hey, imagine my skin, rubbing against you through your nightclothes.  My hips against your hips, my hands all over you.  _Everywhere_. **Imagine**.”

 

Mycroft imagined.  He could picture it: nights together lying in bed, on top of each other, kissing roughly and rubbing their bodies together.  It sent a shiver down his spine.

 

“And you let your hands explore me now, don’t you?” Greg was continuing.  Mycroft licked his lips, because yes… He was imagining that now too.  Running his slender hands up and down that tan skin…

 

“Every inch of me.  And you want me to push you down on the bed. And to take all your clothes off, want me to climb onto you.  And into you. _Deep. Inside you._ ”

 

Mycroft chewed at his bottom lip, eyes still closed, as his imagination moved with Greg’s words.  He should be paying attention to the Russian, should be observing, but… He couldn’t stop imaging the feeling of Greg pushing in and out of him, making him cry out and arch up…

 

“And it doesn’t go away when you open your eyes, does it?” Greg was starting to conclude, leaning back and away from the man, who opened his eyes to stare at him again.  Greg had a confident smirk on his face. “You can _still_ feel me, can’t you?”

 

The Russian started talking.  Mycroft’s eyes snapped open, the other voice breaking the trance he’d fallen into.  He blinked rapidly, snatching a pen and listening closely.  He scribbled down everything that was mildly important, doing his best to ignore his tight trousers and flushed cheeks as Greg continued to work his magic.


	100. The Big Question

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Greg groaned as he was led to a table out on the patio of a super fancy restaurant. Mycroft was there waiting for him, a glass of wine in hand, and he glanced up at his partner with a slight smile.

 

“I assure you it is quite alright. Do sit, Gregory,” he said smoothly, gesturing to the chair across from him.  A glass of wine was already waiting for him as well, and Greg was grateful. He needed it after the day he’d had.

 

“First, though,” Greg prompted with a smile. He walked over and leaned down, kissing the younger man gently.  He brushed the back of his fingers against his cheek, and Mycroft hummed happily. Okay.  Now he could sit down.  He slid into his seat and reached for his wine, sipping on it and sighing as he was finally able to relax.

 

“Long day,” Mycroft commented. An observation, of course, not a question.  He could always tell. So Greg just nodded.

 

“Yeah.  Glad it’s over.  Hated that it cut into our dinner time though,” he frowned.  Mycroft shook his head.

 

“It is of no consequence, Gregory. My evening is free,” Mycroft smiled. Greg felt a bit of relief at that. His “minor position in the British government” took up a lot of time, and he would’ve hated for the case to keep him away from what little time they’d been able to carve out.  But good.  They had the rest of the night.

 

Their meals were brought out without either man having to order anything.  Mycroft arranged that sometimes, and it made Greg grin.  They ate and drank wine and relaxed, talking about nothing of consequence, and everything was just comfortable.  He crossed his long legs under the table and brushed the tip of his shoe against Greg’s calf.  The older man took the cue and stuck his leg out a bit further and raising it, rubbing back slowly. They gazed at each other fondly, their eyes saying things that were not coming out of their mouths.

 

The meal mostly over, and Greg was ready to call it a night and head to their home.  He was thinking about some cuddling in bed, maybe a joint shower, something of that nature.  Yet, as he shifted to start getting up, the server came back out.  He brought dessert out with him; two servings of tiramisu and cups of coffee. Greg blinked.  Mycroft hardly ever arranged for dessert, always using something diet-related as an excuse.  Not only was there dessert, but it was one of Greg’s favorites.

 

“What’s the occasion, Myc?” he asked with a smile as he picked up his spoon.  It wasn’t either one of their birthdays.  It wasn’t any kind of anniversary.  Nothing really…special about the day.  It seemed very random.  He licked his lips and took his first bite before noticing the change in Mycroft’s posture. He was straighter now, some of the relaxation he’d had previously gone.  He hadn’t touched his own yet.  Greg blinked. “Myc?”

 

“We have known each other for almost seven years now, Gregory,” Mycroft started saying softly.  Greg nodded, licking stray bits of tiramisu off his lip and gazing over at his partner.

 

“We sure have,” he commented after a beat of silence. He took a drink of his coffee. “What’s going on?  Mycroft?”

 

“My first impressions of you weren’t very lasting, I will admit,” Mycroft admitted, continuing without acknowledging Greg’s question. “But you very quickly became a much more important element in my life than I’d ever expected.  You became a force in my brother’s life, and did what I could not.  You got him off the drugs.  You changed his life around, and therefore, changed mine around. For the rest of our lives I will never be able to thank you enough, or truly relay the extent of my appreciation for this.”

 

Greg blinked, feeling a warmth flooding through him. It was rare they talked like this, but he wasn’t going to complain.  It was some of the sweetest stuff, even if they were basically facts. It was something else how they’d become a part of each other’s lives so essentially.

 

“That made me realize just how much I was in love with you,” Mycroft continued.  Greg smiled. “I never put much stock in it before, mind.  My life has always been far too busy to concern myself with any sort of relationship, or begin to entertain the idea of love. Now I cannot think how my life would be complete without it.  Without you.”

 

Greg blinked in confusion as he watched Mycroft stand, and felt something clutch at his heart.  It was something that his head hadn’t quite caught up with yet. His eyes widened as his boyfriend, the love of his life, walked over to him with one hand in his suit jacket pocket. It was a normal thing for Mycroft to do, yet it made Greg’s heart pound even faster.

 

“Mycroft,” he said shakily.  Everything clicked into place when, out in public with people nearby, Mycroft slid down onto one knee in front of him. He pulled out a small velvet box. “Oh Jesus Christ.”

 

“Gregory Lestrade, you are a part of me. I would appreciate it if you would do the honor of extending that part to the farthest it can go. If you would marry me.”

 

The box opened.  The ring was basically a wedding band, but there was something different enough about it that made it an engagement ring.  Greg couldn’t put into words what about it made him think that. He couldn’t put _anything_ to words.  His mouth was dry and he was frozen, staring.  Mycroft stared back at him patiently, rigid and confident as he knelt in front of him.

 

“My god,” Greg exhaled shakily, heat prickling at his eyes. “I… _Fuck_.  Yes, you absolute bastard.”

 

Mycroft broke out into a genuine, wide smile; a smile that was reserved for Greg alone.  He moved to take the ring out but Greg didn’t let him get that far as he lunged out of his chair, falling to his knees in front of Mycroft, and tugging him into a passionate kiss.  Gripping the box tightly and shutting it, their arms went around one another and they kissed, not having a care in the world where they were or who saw.

 


	101. The London Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teen AU

They were on a date. A true date. Greg had never been so excited to be on a date before. He’d been on plenty before he and Mycroft started dating, sure, but none of them were like this. Dinner and a movie, normally. The lame stuff all teens did. This, however. This was so much more.

Of course, in dating Mycroft Holmes, dinner and a movie just didn’t really flow. The London eye, however? Yeah, that was more his style. They’d booked a private capsule and while the normal rotation went for 30 minutes to an hour, they had it blocked off for them for at least two hours. With wiggle room if they decided to extend. Greg had a suspicion Mycroft had special influence in that regard, but he wasn’t going to complain.

The capsule had a very intimate feel to it. Greg grinned as they walked inside, shown to it by the attendant but left alone once the door was slid shut. There was normally a host for the nicer ones, so he assumed that was also Mycroft’s specific influence. It was nice. He took a few steps in, eyeing the small spread of food and champagne, and he raised his eyebrows in amusement.

They got settled in, drinks in hand, as the rotation began. Together they sat on the small sofa that could be fit inside the space, legs touching. Greg stretched his arm along the back of it, his fingers brushing Mycroft’s shoulder gently.

“This is really nice, Myc,” he commented, glancing over at the other teen, who looked amazing as always in his full suit. He got a slightly reserved smile in return.

“I am glad you are enjoying it, Gregory,” he commented, glancing out at the view in front of them for the briefest of moments, before turning his pale eyes back to the glass in his hands. Greg almost commented, but decided not to, and they drank in comfortable silence.

“C’mere,” he said softly when they’d both finished. He tugged on Mycroft’s arm and pulled him close, leaning in to kiss him gently. Mycroft wrapped his arms around Greg’s neck and shifted closer, their bodies pressing against each other comfortably.

None of their movements were hurried, as the two teens just enjoyed each other’s company and the feelings they provided one another. They remained cuddled on the couch, talking and kissing and laughing softly with each other, glancing out as they rose higher. As they made their way to the top of the rotation, the wind caused things to rock ever so slightly. It was just enough to be felt.

In that moment, Mycroft froze. The gentle grip on Greg’s bicep tightened a lot. Greg blinked, looking over at his boyfriend curiously. His facial expression hadn’t really changed, but there was something in his pale eyes…

“Myc?” he asked softly. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, of course, Gregory,” Mycroft responded very quickly without looking at him. “Just fine.”

The grip wouldn’t loosen. Greg began to grin a bit.

“Are you afraid of heights?” he asked after a beat. Now, Mycroft did turn to look at him, eyebrows raised.

“Don’t be absurd, of course not.”

Greg found he didn’t quite believe the other boy. It honestly surprised him, with as much as he knew Mycroft to travel in airplanes. Yet here they were, and he was definitely nervous and concerned about something.

“Why don’t we go look at the view then?” he asked, moving to get off the sofa. The grip tightened even more and Mycroft all but tugged Greg back down against him.

“It’s just London, nothing we haven’t seen before,” Mycroft mumbled. Greg grinned again.

“You are afraid. Awww, Myc, it’s okay,” he cooed, reaching to gather the younger teen into his arms. He received a glare at this, and he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Shut up, Gregory,” Mycroft mumbled with a huff. Shaking his head, Greg tugged him close and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“That makes the date even more sweet,” he whispered into Mycroft’s ear. That he’d arrange this, even with his adversity to heights? It was really romantic. Mycroft rolled his eyes, but the start of a smile seeped onto his face.

“Tell no one,” he whispered, leaning back into Greg with a sigh.


	102. Wear Mine For Now

“It’s late, I should probably go to my flat so I can get clothes…” Greg commented, stretched out on Mycroft’s bed stark nude. The younger man was propped up on one elbow next to him, reading through an email on his mobile, also just as naked. Smiling, he reached over and ran his fingers along Mycroft’s arm gently.

“Not necessary,” Mycroft commented, lowering his mobile and taking Greg’s hand into his, lifting it to kiss his knuckles. “I can have Anthea stop by and get you some later.”

“Later?” Greg asked, arching his eyebrows. “So I’ll just walk around your place naked until then, shall I?”

Mycroft paused, thinking on that for a second. Greg didn’t care to wander around nude, of course, because he was completely comfortable in such a state. He watched his partner’s face curiously as he thought about the scenario, his pale eyes running along his body.

“Perhaps not,” he hummed after a moment. “I would be unable to focus.”

Greg chuckled and shifted closer, brushing his nose along Mycroft’s bare shoulder.

“Maybe I want to keep you distracted,” he whispered deeply. He heard Mycroft exhale softly, and it made him grin even wider.

“You can wear some of my clothing until Anthea arrives with some of you own,” he said hastily after a moment. “You are welcome to anything, Gregory.”

The younger man sat up and got off the bed. He started to put on a pair of his silky pajamas, donned with a robe overtop of it. Greg watched silently, before deciding he should probably get dressed as well. Anything, he said. Humming to himself, he got out of bed and went over to Mycroft’s closet.

He could’ve put on pajamas too. He almost did, but in thinking about it, Mycroft’s legs were a fair amount longer than his own and he really didn’t want to be walking all over them. So instead, he went over and found one of the younger man’s pale blue dress shirts to pull on. He buttoned it up a little over halfway, and then wandered over to pull on another one of his robes over it. The shirt extended down to just barely covering over his arse, but it worked. Plus, he had the robe. Satisfied, he turned and made his way over to the other man with a smile.

Mycroft blinked and stared at him, those eyes running up and down his body again. Greg’s face flushed under his stare, and he smiled a bit.

“Myc?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

“I… can’t quite decide if that is better or worse,” Mycroft admitted, staring at the part of his chest not hidden by either article of clothing. Greg grinned widely and shrugged.

“Your suggestion, love,” he pointed out. It was amusing and a bit flattering how attracted to him Mycroft was. Greg never would’ve believed it, but… All evidence pointed to that. Including the amazing sex they’d just had.

“Anthea will have some of your things in a few hours,” Mycroft said, attempting to not act like he was completely distracted by him. Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s waist and stepped close, tilting his head to kiss his jaw.

“I promise I’ll try not to be too sultry,” he whispered against his skin.

“You’re already failing at that, Gregory darling,” Mycroft huffed, shuddering a bit against his body. 

“Oh I know,” Greg smirked, kissing along his jaw and down towards his neck.

“Gregory…” Mycroft groaned. Chuckling, he took a step back and smiled sweetly.

“Thank you for letting me borrow some clothes, Myc,” he said sweetly, moving to walk out of the bedroom. “Tea?”

“Tea would be lovely, yes,” Mycroft called after him, pale eyes locked on the way the robe swayed and Greg’s legs peeked out every time he took a step.


	103. April Guest Writer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was submitted to me by someone from ff.net, a user named Korah (https://www.fanfiction.net/u/4438404/), to use for the guest writer option I mentioned and had a submission for back in January. It was something no one else ever took me up on the offer for, but this was so sweet and I got super excited about it!! :D It is a lot longer than my normal drabbles, but I didn't want to split it in two at all, so I'm just posting it in one fell swoop~

Mycroft shifted with the mattress when Gregory got up, feeling disoriented for a moment. The bedroom was still dark, the November grey night barely getting through the curtains.  He woke a bit more when he noticed the cough sound coming from one of the adjacent bedrooms. He listened to the sound of water running in the bathroom, then the lull of Gregory’s voice as he helped his daughter drink some tepid water.

 

Greg's two daughters, Elizabeth and Abigail, were spending the week with them at Mycroft's flat (technically Greg's too now, because he has moved in a few months ago). Christina, Greg's ex-wife, had taken a week-vacation with the PE teacher (Mycroft had a file with his name, of course, but neither man cared enough about him to actually call him by such) so they had dropped off the girls before their flight Friday afternoon.  The four of them had spent a lovely week-end together, going at the zoo, the pastry shop, and the park. Dear Abigail was still recovering from a nasty cold, and even if she didn't have fever anymore, she kept a persistent cough.  It hit her especially hard during the night as she was lying down.

 

Silence eventually returned in the mansion and Gregory came back to the bedroom a few minutes later, a worried frown on his face.

 

“She is not better?” asked Mycroft.

 

“No. But at least Lizzy didn’t wake up this time.” The DI climbed back into bed, but chose to sit back again the headboard rather than going back being the big spoon with his lover.  Mycroft glanced at his alarm before sitting up and settling in next to his partner. The two men always woke up early, and judging by the hour, he figured they may as well get up now instead of trying to go back to sleep for such a short amount of time. Furthermore, both were worried about Greg’s youngest.

 

“Do you want me to call the doctor?” asked the redhead. Greg dismissed the idea with a slight shake of his head.

 

“No, it's just the leftovers of a cold. She’s too tired to go to school, though. I would prefer her to stay at home today.” He passed his hand through his salt-and-pepper hair with a sigh. “With the serial-strangler case I really can't take a day off, and since Christina is away for the week with her bloody PE teacher, there goes the normal option. She doesn’t really like me, but maybe I can ask Christina's sister...”

 

“I can stay home with her if you want,” Mycroft suddenly heard himself offer.

 

“What?” Greg asked, glancing at him with a shocked expression on his face.

 

“I don't have meeting that can't be cancelled, and Anthea can send by mail the most urgent files. So I can stay home with her today.” Mycroft shifted, suddenly a bit uncertain. “But, Gregory, only if you trust me to...”

 

Greg cut him off by waving his hand dismissively.

 

“Of course I trust you, Myc, that’s not even a question. But a sick child is not that fun, you know,” he said.  Mycroft raised his eyebrows.

 

“Really Gregory, no one can be as annoying as a young Sherlock with a cold.”

 

That made Gregory smirk.

 

“Yeah, I believe you with that.” He studied his lover's eyes for a moment. “Honestly Mycroft, are you sure?”

 

“Gregory, you're a part of my life now, just like your daughters. I know you are worried and I want to be there for you. Let me help, please?”

 

Relieved, Greg agreed.

 

Things went quickly after that. Abby was left in the bedroom the two sisters shared when there were staying in the house (nearly one week every two weeks, with the shared custody) while Elizabeth was asked to prepare herself for school. Elizabeth whined a little bit about it, wanting to stay at home too, but Greg quickly (but gently) scolded her, explaining that Abby was staying at home because of a cold, not to have a fun day off.

 

Before heading out for the day, the DI quickly went upstairs to give his daughter a kiss.  He then hugged Mycroft in the doorframe, Elizabeth already in the car.

 

“Thank you again,” he smiled.  Mycroft hugged him back for a moment before responding.

 

“Of course.  I love you.” Smiling, he kissed Greg’s cheek in farewell.

 

Once Elizabeth and Gregory had left, Mycroft had a moment dizziness in the silent house.  Was he really capable of taking care of a child during a whole day by himself? He remembered taking care of Sherlock when they were younger but it had been ages ago...

 

“Stop,” he scolded himself. Abigail was the sweetest girl in the world, and if he could deal with angry politicians every day, a six-year-old girl shouldn't scare him. Taking a deep breath, he slowly made his way to the kitchen. Gregory had left some food in the fridge, and perhaps Abigail would be willing to share a cuppa with him.

 

**oOoOoOoOoOo**

Several hours later, Mycroft felt himself relax. Everything had gone just fine so far.  After the cup of tea (she liked it with two sugars but no milk, he has been remembered) Abigail had slept through most of the morning.

 

At midday, he helped her to get to the bathroom, waiting behind the door while she washed herself a bit. Then he placed her on the sofa, her petite form covered by blanket when he warmed up a chicken soup bowl for her. She had wanted to take another nap after that, and he was now heading to her room with a mug of hot cocoa, curious to see if she had awoken. She had, apparently bored, which was easily deduced by the bright smile of excitement she gave him when he entered the room.

 

He carefully put the mug on the nightstand next to her, the rich smell of chocolate bringing back memories. Hot cocoa has been one of the only things that had been capable of soothing Sherlock when he was sick, and Mycroft hoped the magic of the chocolate would have the same effect on the young girl.

 

“How are you, dear Abigail?” he asked gently as he sat down on the bed next to her. Settled, he picked the mug back up and handed it over to her.

 

“I feel better, thank you Myc.”

 

Mycroft smiled a little. Greg's daughters have taken after their father's habit to call him “Myc”.  He could not stand his name being shortened by strangers, or even his own family, but it didn’t bother him with these three. With Gregory because it was one of the many ways the DI showed his love for the posh man. As for Abby and Elizabeth, it was because they were comfortable with him and no longer felt the need to be formal. He wasn't “Mr. Holmes” in this house. He was just “Myc”, their daddy's lover, and he found he didn’t want it any other way.

 

After cleaning Abby's face of the chocolate moustache she had acquired, Mycroft stood, prepared to leave so the sick girl could continue to rest, but she retained him by grabbing at the bottom of his suit jacket.

 

“Can you stay here, Myc?” she asked softly, blinking up at him with brown eyes identical to her father’s. “Or can I come with you to your office? I will stay silent, I promise.”

 

“You should be resting, Abigail.”

 

“But I'm bored!” she complained with a dramatic sigh.

 

Ok, that one definitely brought back Sherlock-related memories. Mycroft frantically tried to remember what he used to do with Sherlock to keep his young brother entertained. He quickly dismissed some ideas, however: reading aloud the criminal section of the newspaper and testing her about how far she remembered the “periodic table of elements song” just wouldn’t do the trick. He racked his brain to find something when she began to fuss again. So, on a whim, he tried: “Would you like to draw?”

 

When she nodded, he sighed in relief and went over to the girl’s desk to get some white paper, cardboard as a support plate, and colored pencil, happy to have managed this crisis. The young girl studied pencils for a moment, before separating some of them and handing them to Mycroft.

“Do you want me to take care of them while you draw?” he asked, glancing at what he now held.

 

“No silly, it’s so you can make your own drawing too.”

 

“Oh, all right,” he blinked in surprise.  He helped her to sit against the pillows, rearranged the duvet and then settled next to her again on the bedspread with his own paper.

 

Mycroft had no artistic skill whatsoever, so he just made some doodle with a dark green pencil while Lizzy drew with application, her brunette hairs falling in front of her face.  After a while, Mycroft simply stared at the chamber, and he realized that he couldn't remember how the room had looked before the two girls had inhabited it with their clothes, cartoon-character posters, and toys. He was astonished to think, upon further reflection, that he was happier that way. The house had always felt so cold and empty before, which hadn’t ever bothered him before, but he knew he couldn’t go back to that ever again. If Greg has brought the warm in his heart, his daughters have brought life in this house.

 

“Myc? Do you want to see my drawing?”

 

Her question brought him out of his thoughts, and he re-focused on the young girl.

 

“Yes, of course dear,” he smiled, setting his own aside.

 

The girl proudly showed him her drawing. The paper was filled with 4 humanoid forms, messily drew in light pink colors. Two small forms were displayed under the stretched arms of the two tallest, and all of them wore smiles so big they extended out past their faces.

 

“It's lovely, Abigail,” Mycroft complimented.

 

“There, it's me and Lizzy,” said Abigail, pointing at the two smallest forms. “I have the blue shirt daddy gave me, and Lizzy the green, because it's her preferred color.”

 

Mycroft nodded with a serious expression as he listened to her explanations.

 

“There, it's daddy,” she said, pointing at one of the tallest figure, with a messy grey hair and a red and white ribbon around his neck. Mycroft smirked, recognizing the Arsenal fan scarf his lover was fond of. There was a pause before she spoke again, finishing shyly. “And here is you.”

 

He halted for a moment, looking at the childish drawing. He was represented with a set of circular forms on his torso, which were surely the buttons of his ever-present jacket. His hairs were a messy blur of bright orange curls. What really stopped him was he and Gregory’s hands. The two men were holding hands, their arms unnaturally proportioned in order to pass over the two sisters' head in a protective gesture. What gave him pause, though, wasn’t even just that.  It was that a yellow line crossed their joined hands. When he asked about it, the young girl simply responded:

 

“It's the weddings rings, of course!”

 

Mycroft felt a pang shoot through his chest. Wedding?  It was one of the many things he had never wanted before meeting Greg. Now, some days, he indulged himself in a little dream... But no, Gregory had failed one marriage. Certainly he didn't want to make another try, so he easily dismissed the idea.

“Honey, your father has explained to you that we are not married. We love each other, of course, but we are not married like you mother and your father were,” he explained calmly.

 

“But daddy showed me the rings!” Abigail exclaimed back at him.

 

“What ring, honey?” Mycroft asked after a pause, brow furrowing in surprised confusion.

 

“Not the _ring_ , ring **s**! Those he bought to ask you to marry him!”

 

Mycroft mind stopped at the word “marry”, immediately rushing in all directions. Maybe Abigail had misunderstood... Obviously, Gregory hadn't meant... It was surely... Mycroft cut his swirling mind. First, he took a deep breath. Then, he started to rearrange his thoughts properly. He needed more data to figure out the situation.

 

“When did he talk to you about that?” he asked her gently. Abigail pondered it for a moment before responding.

 

“Um... two weeks ago? He asked Lizzy and me if we were ok to have you as another daddy. He said that you were in love, and that when adults are very in love and want to spend the rest of their lives together they marry, and that's why he was going to marry you.”

_Deep breath, Mycroft._ How was it possible that his inner voice sounded like Sherlock? Dear Lord...

 

Abigail's tiny voice drilled into his dazed thoughts.

 

“You...” The little girl's tone was hesitant and a little bit frightened suddenly. “You are going to marry daddy, right? I mean… you love him, yeah?”

 

Mycroft's heart missed a beat, before going full speed.

 

“Of course, dear, with all my heart. If your father asks me to marry him, I will say yes.”

 

He was rewarded with the biggest smile he had ever seen.

 

“Cool! Lizzy and me, we think that you are super cool, and daddy is _soooo_ happy now, and if you are married we want stay with you in this awesome house with all the toys forever.”

 

The water in Mycroft eyes were **not** tears.  He would never treat them as such.

 

“Abigail dear, you have nothing to fear. I love your father, and I love the two of you as well. Elizabeth and yourself are always welcome in this house.”

 

The young girl extended his arm in front of her, shifting under the covers.

 

“Can I have a hug?” she asked shyly.

 

Mycroft slid closer and wrapped his arms around her. He had never been very good at hugging before, but Gregory had made him more comfortable with them, so he simply held her fondly for a moment. They swung slowly, Mycroft careful not to press her too much, while the girl hugged him as hard as she could with her little arms. After a moment, he felt Abigail getting softer against his chest.

 

“I think I want to sleep again now,” she yawned.

 

Mycroft helped her to get back under the covers, arranging her duvet before collecting the cocoa cup and silently making his exit.  The little girl's voice caught him on the doorframe, making him pause for a moment.

 

“I love you Myc.”

 

“I love you too, Abigail,” he whispered, his voice wavering. He couldn't reach the kitchen fast enough before letting his emotions completely take him over.

 

**oOoOoOoOoOo**

 

When Greg got home that night, he went directly to his daughter’s bedroom to check on her, before going down and meeting Mycroft in the lounge. The redhead was tidying up the DVD boxes of the cartoon Abigail had watched during the late afternoon.

 

They kissed slowly and deeply for a moment.  When they parted, Mycroft felt calm enough to offer a reassuring smile to the worried DI. He had decided to hide the drawing, and had plenty of him to wash away the redness of his earlier tears, but the warm feeling was still in his stomach. He decided not to tell to Gregory that his daughter had spilled the beans. Knowing the man, he had secretly prepared some surprise rendezvous for his wedding proposal, and Mycroft wanted to let him go at his own pace.

 

So when the DI asked about his day, he offered him a warm smile and simply responded: “It was perfect.”

 


	104. Familial Bond

“Gregory, it’s truly wonderful getting to meet your sister,” Mycroft commented as they climbed into the car, leaving the restaurant that they had taken dinner with Emily Lestrade at.  Greg hummed softly, wrapping his arm around the younger man’s shoulders and scooting close in the car.  He stroked Mycroft’s shoulder and smiled, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

 

“I’ve been dying for you to meet her,” he grinned proudly. “We were the two middle children so we stuck together.”

 

“Your bond is truly admirable,” Mycroft commented, reaching for Greg’s other hand and threading their fingers together. He squeezed gently. “It is very clear you two love each other, and that it has always been as such.”

 

Greg smiled.  He gazed over at Mycroft as he spoke, listening and feeling proud over the observation.  He nodded, moving to open his mouth, when something in his partner’s expression made him pause. There was a sort of longing there, in his eyes and the thin line of his mouth.  Greg’s eyes softened.

 

“You okay, Myc?” he asked softly, squeezing his hand and shifting closer.

 

“Yes, I am fine.  You needn’t worry, Gregory,” Mycroft replied, but the tone in his voice had changed slightly.  Greg saw right through it. He squeezed their joined hands again and pulled him close, kissing his forehead.

 

“Talk to me love,” he whispered softly, his lips brushing along Mycroft’s skin.  The younger man sighed.

 

“I suppose I would be lying if I wasn’t the slightest bit envious of your relationship,” he sighed wistfully. “You and Emily have what could be classified as a normal sibling relationship.”

 

Greg smiled sadly.  It wasn’t a secret to him that Mycroft wished things were better between he and Sherlock.  He never talked about it, but he got the impression the two of them used to be very close. He had no idea what pulled them apart, or what created the rift between them, but… Mycroft cared dearly for Sherlock, like a big brother would, and he could see the pain there. Even if he did conceal it well.

 

“I’m so sorry love,” he sighed, rubbing Mycroft’s bicep reassuringly. “I hate the state of your relationship. Is it really so beyond repair? What could’ve happened to get you two so separated like that?”

 

  1.   Greg froze just slightly.  Maybe he shouldn’t have asked that.  They had never really breached the topic of Sherlock in that manner, even though Mycroft entrusted him with all details of his life, and he suddenly felt a bit nervous.



 

“He thought I abandoned him,” Mycroft spoke softly after a few moments of tense silence. “When I left home for university. Before then, he was basically my shadow. He had me raise him more than our parents, and I was okay with it.  I’ve always loved him dearly.  Then I left, and he… He took it hard.  He never had friends, as I’m sure you can imagine.  With me gone, there was no one.  I tried, coming home when I could of course, but it wasn’t often. I had many responsibilities and grades to keep up with, so while I was mostly able to manage coming home on major holidays, there was hardly ever any in between.”

 

Greg said nothing, just nodding and squeezing Mycroft’s bicep.  It hurt to hear; he could only imagine how much it hurt his partner.  How much it hurt **both** Holmes brothers.  Greg could sympathize to an extent.  His youngest sibling, Jonathon, was a bit estranged from the rest of them, but… It was nothing like the painful split those two must have gone through.

 

“Every time I went home he was more distant,” Mycroft sighed. “Until one day, he didn’t leave his room at all. He didn’t respond to my knocking. When I tried talking to him through the door, he started playing obnoxious, yet skillful things on his violin to shut out my voice.  Something he still does to this day.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Greg whispered.  Mycroft shook his head and straightened, as they were pulling up in front of their home.

 

“It is why I am grateful you and Emily are so close. You have that familial bond that I lost. It’s good that at least one of us has it.”

 

Greg watched as Mycroft climbed out of the car, and the clambered to get out after him.  Reaching out, he grabbed his wrist and gently spun him.

 

“You have it too.  Maybe not with Sherlock, which I hate dearly and wish something could be done, but…” Greg stepped close and nudged the tips of their noses together, before leaning up to kiss the taller man gently. “You have it with Ems. You’re family, Mycroft.”

 

“I love you Gregory,” Mycroft sighed with an affectionate smile.  He wasn’t usually the one to initiate, so it made Greg blink in surprise, but bust out a big smile.

 

“I love you too, Myc.  Now c’mon, let’s go to bed.”


	105. Sex and Socks

“You wear…too many…damn layers.”

 

“Nonsense, Gregory, I – _aahhhh_ – I am very aware how much you… how much you enjoy my c-choices of clothing.”

 

“Not bloody enjoying it right now.”

 

Greg growled as he pressed against the taller man, diving in to kiss and lick at his neck as his hands fumbled with the buttons of Mycroft’s three-piece suit.  His partner was right, of course.  Greg **did** adore every one of the politician’s perfect suits. He loved the way Mycroft looked in them, how perfectly tailored they all were… He loved watching Mycroft methodically put them on in the morning, and he loved assisting in taking them off at night.

 

Now, however…  Now he liked the lovely garments much less than normal. When the two men were furiously attempting to create the friction their bodies desired, they were rather hindering. Plus, Greg got a bit impatient when he was turned on, so the tedious way he had to remove the clothing felt ten times slower than it really was.  No matter what, though, he could never bring himself to handle them roughly.

 

Finally, after what felt like an aching eternity, Mycroft was bare-chested.  Shivering, Greg shoved him down onto the bed and yanked his own shirt off to toss on the floor. Their eyes locked, both sets of pupils blown wide, and next Greg was climbing onto the bed and straddling his lover as he leaned down for a heated kiss.

 

Mycroft’s hands were on his chest, and then his back, his nails dragging down Greg’s slightly tanned skin. His long legs were wrapping around Greg’s waist, and **god** it felt so good. It was with reluctance he shifted away after they were both left breathless and panting from the intensity of their kisses, but since it was to rid Mycroft of his trousers, Greg supposed he could cope.

 

Shortly they were both naked and pressing together, Greg taking both of them in his hand and stroking slowly. Their hips rocked together, Mycroft arching his back to press them against each other.  The almost desperate noises the politician made when they were like this was dizzying.  Greg watched his face for a while, gazing at each tiny way Mycroft’s forehead and mouth and nose twitched with each wave of pleasure that shot through him.

 

Greg had his face buried in Mycroft’s neck, panting against his skin and rubbing along their slick tips with his thumb, which always made Mycroft jerk and almost yelp every time.  The younger man shifted under him, adjusting to a better position as he parted his legs a bit, causing Greg to settle between them even easier than he’d been before.  He was moving to gently bite at Mycroft’s collarbone when he felt his lover’s body start to shake a bit underneath him.  At first, he thought it was his climax starting to hit, but… No. After a second, he heard sounds coming from Mycroft that wasn’t any kind of moan or other pleasurable sound. No, it was…

 

Laughter?

 

Greg blinked, starting to slow in his movements a bit. Mycroft was still moving, however, so they continued to rock against each other, even as his laughter became much more evident.  Greg lifted his head, puzzled, but couldn’t hold back a bit of a chuckle himself.

 

“What’s so funny?” he asked breathlessly. Mycroft blinked, quieting, before busting out into another stream of giggles.

 

“Apologies, Gregory,” he said as his voice quivered with continuous laughter. “It’s just… We’re still wearing our _socks_.”

 

Greg arched an eyebrow and stilled, turning to look at their tangled legs.  Sure enough, in their haste to get undressed and touch one another, neither man had taken off their socks.   He had to admit, it did look silly.  This set off another round of giggles from Mycroft, which Greg couldn’t help but join in on. They’d never had sex with just their socks on before.  It was a simple thing, and Greg supposed it really wasn’t THAT funny, but…

 

There was something about them laughing together in the middle of sex that was just lovely.  Greg had never done that before.  It was playful.  They took a moment to recover from their amusement, their laughter starting to softly die off as they gazed at one another, before Mycroft lifted his head to initiate another kiss.

 

“Come now Gregory,” he said, whispering the double entendre deeply against Greg’s lips, rolling his hips up and thrusting both of them through the hand that was still wrapped around their erections. Greg groaned and began moving his hand again, going back at it with full, perfect intensity.


	106. Tattoos

Years of association and polite meetings all led to this.  What started as a professional relationship, brought together because of Sherlock, slowly turned into a friendship.  With that friendship came coffee, comfortable conversations, and actual laughter. Hangouts with coffee turned into lunch. Lunch turned into dinner. The laughter became more private, more… intimate.

 

Now here they were.  Greg had his arms around Mycroft Holmes’ waist, and they were _kissing_.  Christ could the man kiss.  They had shared simple kisses here and there, of course. They started having dates, holding hands, and once Greg had worked up the balls to do it, there were simple kisses. But this… This was heavy, wanting kisses, and Mycroft was biting his lower lip and tugging, and it was perfect.

 

“You know when I said we could come back for coffee, I didn’t mean coffee, right?” he whispered softly, rubbing his nose against Mycroft’s with a grin.

 

“You mean you’re _not_ going to brew me a hot caffeinated beverage?” Mycroft asked, dropping his mouth open as he feigned surprise.

 

“Smart ass,” Greg chuckled, nudging the politician in the chest playfully.  Mycroft smirked.

 

“I know quite what you had in mind, Gregory. Believe me when I say I want it as well,” Mycroft panted slightly, leaning back in to initiate another heated kiss.

 

Slowly, they made their way through Greg’s flat. He navigated it expertly, being matched touch for touch and kiss for kiss.  Mycroft’s hands ran down his arms and sides, slipping under his shirt to stroke the skin of his stomach and making him shiver a bit.  Finally, they made it into the bedroom, and they took the slightest of steps back from each other.

 

“May I?” Mycroft asked, panting, running his pale eyes up and down Greg’s torso.  The older man felt his skin tingle.

 

“Yes,” he breathed.  Mycroft took the approval quickly to grab a hold of his shirt and tug.  Greg lifted his arms and his shirt was pulled off and discarded to the side.  He remained silent, watching as Mycroft let his eyes roam across his naked torso.

 

“Gregory, you have…”

 

“Tattoos, yeah,” he shrugged, rubbing the back of his head a bit.

 

The heated intimacy they were just sharing died down a little bit, but was not abandoned.  Reaching out, Mycroft started tracing the outlines of the guitar he had on his left side.  He shifted his arm and turned so the younger man could better see it.

 

“How many?” Mycroft asked in a hushed tone, examining the guitar closely as he traced.  Greg let out a small breath as the motion tickled slightly, and he turned his head to watch him again.

 

“Why don’t you inspect, Myc?” he asked softly, grinning. “I’m all yours.”

 

The look Mycroft gave him at that statement sent heat flaring through him.  He bit his lip a bit and ran his fingers through the other man’s hair, stroking the back of his neck lightly, but did not go any further.  The moment that was occurring between them was intimate on more than one level.  The steamy stuff would flare back up shortly, of course.  However, this was also about getting to know one another on an extremely personal level. It was about exploring each other’s bodies, which Mycroft was currently taking full advantage of.

 

The younger man was running the tips of his fingers along his skin, finding each of the six tattoos that decorated his upper body. He pressed close as he explored, kissing bare skin and breathing against him, making him shiver.

 

“You have more than I expected,” Mycroft said after a moment, as he’d circled around and was now standing in front of Greg again.

 

“I used to have a nipple ring too,” he commented, not entirely sure why he said it but chuckling as he watching Mycroft’s eyebrow rise?

 

“Which one?” he asked, his eyes flicking down to Greg’s chest.

 

“Left.”

 

Mycroft leaned in, running the tip of his tongue over that nipple.  Greg let out a soft gasp.

 

“Why did you rid yourself of it?” he asked before running his tongue along it again.  Greg whimpered.

 

“D-dunno,” he breathed, reaching out to clutch Mycroft’s arm.

 

“You were quite adventurous in your youth, weren’t you?” Mycroft asked as he righted himself.

 

“Yeah,” Greg smiled, pressing in and slipping his hands under Mycroft’s coat to slide it off his shoulders. “Me and my best mate James always went and got them together.”

 

“Should I be jealous?” Mycroft teased.

 

“Nah,” Greg said, leaning in to initiate another kiss. This one was heated again and they gripped at one another as their arousal flourished. “Not when I’ve got you.”


	107. Sunscreen

Greg could swear he was a fish in another life. It was the best explanation. He loved being in the water about as much as he loved cooking, which he loved almost as much as the handsome man reclining at the poolside under a large umbrella.  Smiling softly to himself, he swam over to the edge of the pool and rested his arms on the warm concrete, propping his chin there and gazing over at Mycroft.

 

“You should join me love,” he said softly, watching as the politician looked up from the book he was holding.

 

“That wouldn’t be the wisest choice,” Mycroft commented, arching an eyebrow. “I am fine right here, admiring _you_ enjoying the water.”

 

Greg chuckled and turned his head to the side, his cheek squishing as he pushed into his arm.  He shifted his legs under the water absently, causing it to ripple against his back.

 

“I’d enjoy it more with you,” he protested. Mycroft shook his head.

 

“Gregory dear, I regret to remind you of the delicacy of my skin under the sun’s rays,” Mycroft pointed out. He marked his place in the book and set it aside, before sitting up straighter and folding his hands on his lap.

 

“What if I put sunscreen on you?” Greg asked, his grin widening.  He was nothing if not persistent. “We have some of that real heavy duty stuff. And I won’t let you burn, promise. Maybe just enough to get you a few more freckles…”

 

“That is really the _last_ thing I desire,” Mycroft scoffed, rolling his eyes. He had quite enough freckles already, thank you very much.  Shaking his head, Greg pushed himself out of the water.  Droplets fell off him and slid down his body as he started to walk over to where his partner was sitting.  He didn’t miss the way Mycroft’s eyes locked on his torso, or the way his lips parted slightly.  It made him smirk.

 

“Come on Myc,” he said softly, sitting on the edge of the chair and leaning in to rub his nose along the younger man’s cheek. Mycroft sighed, shaking his head in exasperation.

 

“Fine,” he conceded.  Greg’s grin brightened, making Mycroft chuckle. “In many ways, you are still so childlike, my dear.”

 

“And you love it,” Greg retorted, turning at his waist to reach for the aforementioned sunscreen.  He popped the cap open and poured some of the somewhat coconut-scented liquid out onto his palm.  Pressing his hands together, he rubbed them together to coat both palms. “Now turn, love.”

 

Eyes shining in amusement, Mycroft shifted on the chair and turned so that his back was facing Greg.  He gazed along that freckled back, leaning in to press a kiss to the base of his neck.  He pressed two and three, moving down slightly with each other.

 

“Thought you were applying my sunscreen?” Mycroft asked, his voice light.  Greg grinned.

 

“About to.  Can’t help that you distract me,” Greg grinned, sitting up. Sighing softly through his nose, he reached up and started rubbing along Mycroft’s shoulders in a gentle massage. He started at the edge, moving in and along his muscles slowly.  Mycroft let out a content noise, his eyes fluttering shut and his head falling forward slightly.

 

As he reached halfway down his partner’s back, Greg had to stop momentarily so he could get out more sunscreen. He continued at that point, rubbing in small circles along the muscles of Mycroft’s lower back. The younger man let out another noise.

 

“Feels good,” Mycroft sighed softly. Smiling, Greg finished covering his back and retrieved more sunscreen.

 

“Face me again now,” he requested affectionately. Mycroft did so, turning and glancing down as their knees brushed against each other.  Greg continued applying the sunscreen to his arms and chest, definitely not ignoring the way he shivered slightly as his hands brushed along his nipples.  Greg smirked.

 

“Ready for that swim now?” he asked, glancing up at Mycroft, smiling.  The younger man nodded, taking Greg’s hand and threading their fingers together as they stood.

 

“Yes, I believe I can make due with a short swim,” he commented.  Greg squeezed their hands and led Mycroft over to the pool, tugging him in for a sweet kiss before the both climbed into the comfortably cool water.


	108. Tough Parenting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting two chapters very close together because I'm going out of town for the weekend, and my computer isn't a laptop so I can't take it with me. So, here is Friday's drabble come super early (my time anyway). I won't be able to post anything Saturday, so depending on what time I return home Sunday I'll double up and post two chapters then to make up for it. So I will see you then!!

“Mr. Lestrade?  Yes, hello.  Your daughter Abigail got into a fight this afternoon at school, we need you to come down.”

 

When Greg had gotten the call, he could scarcely believe it was actually happening.  His Abby, a fight?  She was getting sent home for the remainder of the week?  _His Abby_? He kept asking himself that as he left the Yard and drove to meet with the school officials and pick up his little girl.  They explained very little, and Abby sat in a chair staring at the floor the whole time, her hands balled into fists as she gripped her trousers tightly.  Greg was polite, apologized, and then they were leaving.

 

He stopped in the deserted hallway and crouched down, holding onto Abby’s shoulders gently and looking into her eyes. She hadn’t cried, but she was upset. His brown eyes were soft and patient.

 

“Okay, you wanna tell me what happened?” he asked softly.  Abby huffed.

 

“Eric said…” she started, her voice wavering with tears Greg knew wouldn’t fall. “He called you disgusting.  Said I… said I should be ashamed for having two daddies now. That you and My were… _unnatural_.”

 

It was clear she was extremely upset over it all. Greg sighed through his nose. He couldn’t blame her; he would’ve done the same damn thing.  He squeezed her shoulders again softly and leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead.

 

“It’s okay dear,” he said softly. “I’m sorry you had to hear something like that.  That you…”

 

“No!  Da, don’t be sorry.  I love you and My. I love having you both as daddies.” Now this was where her eyes started to shine with tears.  She gripped his shirt tightly, and he nodded, tucking hair behind her ear.

 

“I know, love.  It’s okay.  Some people are ignorant, but the good thing is their ignorance won’t hurt our lives, yeah?” Abby nodded. Greg smiled and stood. “Now come on. Someone’s waiting for us.”

 

Abby’s eyes lit up, as she knew exactly who that someone was.  She practically took off into a sprint that Greg didn’t even bother trying to put up with, smiling softly as he watched her.  He just… He couldn’t quite bring himself to punish her for it.  She needed to understand that hitting the kid wasn’t really the best choice to go with first, but… He understood why she did it.  She was proud of him, and of his marriage, and that made him want to cry.  Nothing had been more important than his children’s’ acceptance, so the fact that his youngest had socked a kid in the jaw for slandering it made him rather proud honestly.

 

He would tell her that.  Once she’d understood she really needed to not do something to that effect again.

 

“My!!” Abby cried out as they stepped outside and she laid eyes on the taller of the two men, complete with his umbrella, standing next to a familiar black vehicle.  Mycroft crouched some as she approached, Greg close behind.

 

“Good afternoon Abigail,” he greeted, and then glanced at his husband with a soft smile.  The three of them climbed in the car and it drove off.  Greg assumed one of Mycroft’s employees would drive his car back to the house.  They usually did.

 

“Now Mycroft knows as well as I do that you going home is not all fun and relaxation,” Greg pointed out after a moment. He still had to be a father, through it all.  Just… not a harsh father.

 

“Indeed,” Mycroft nodded, further emphasizing his point. “While I am not yet fully aware of the details of your encounter, resorting to physical violence is not always the best or first choice, my dear.”

 

Abby nodded, staring down at the floor a bit.

 

“I know, m’sorry…” she sighed. “I just…”

 

“It’s okay, Abby,” Greg made sure to say before she felt too terrible about it.  The young girl blinked and looked back up. “I understand, love. I do. You just need to be careful, okay? If something like that starts to happen again, there are two things you can do that will be better than hitting the boy.”

 

“What are those?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

 

“Ignore him and walk away, first,” Greg said, sticking up a finger.  Then, he added a second. “Or, report him to a teacher, and let them give out a more appropriate punishment.”

 

Abby nodded, fiddling with the hem of her shirt a bit.

 

“Kay,” she muttered. 

 

“Do not worry, Abigail,” Mycroft soothed. “It’s over and done with for now.”

 

“I just don’t like people saying it’s disgusting,” she pouted, huffing.  Slowly, Greg slid a hand across to thread his fingers with Mycroft’s and squeeze. Pale eyes flicked over to him briefly. Abby saw, and smiled. “Because see? Your love is beautiful. You’re both my daddies and it makes me happy and proud.”


	109. Overworked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back in town, you guys! Here is the first of three drabbles I'll be posting today that'll get me back on track. ^_^

This had been the week from hell. Greg hadn’t worked a case this difficult since the mess of bombings Moriarty had pulled them and Sherlock into. The detective was like a kid in a candy store, of course, having the time of his life.  Greg felt like he was losing years off whatever life he had left. He hadn’t slept in three days straight, living off of coffee and sub sandwiches and adrenaline.

 

The string of murders had gotten more complex and more gruesome as the case was drawn out.  Complex… It was the nice term for it.  As it turned out, they were so much more than a simple string of murders.  There was not just motive behind the killings, but slowly they uncovered a political connection between them all.  It had been hard to find, and even Sherlock himself didn’t see it for a while, but once they did it was clear as day.  This was also the time that Mycroft had to get involved.

 

Their work didn’t often overlap like this. Before, on the times that it had, they had overlapped just enough for Mycroft to have it yanked from Greg’s jurisdiction and worked on much more privately.  The elder Holmes had been unable to do it with this, because it was already too involved and not so easily contained, so here they were.

 

Their sofa was usually used for cuddling, and drinking, and some heavy snogging.  Now, though, it was also used for work.  The two men were sitting side by side, Mycroft with his nose buried in his mobile and Greg was leaning over papers that were strewn across the table. He had a mug of fresh coffee in his hand and he was sipping out of it silently and yawning.

 

“You need to rest,” Mycroft commented, slipping a hand around Greg’s waist.  The older man turned to glance at him, and his pale eyes shifted away from his mobile long enough to glance at the pen hanging out of his mouth. Greg blinked and reached to take it out, not realizing he’d been chewing on it.  It was a habit he still tended to do as a result of quitting smoking, when he was in high stress situations.  He took in his partner’s appearance: his nightclothes and red robe were well kept as always, but his hair was a bit messy and he had lines showing under his eyes.

 

“Says the pot to the kettle,” Greg commented, tossing the pen down on top of a case file on the table and drinking his coffee. Mycroft arched an eyebrow and hummed, but continued reading and typing. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

 

“Perhaps, but Gregory, I am used to the intensity of these long hours.  I am a Holmes, after all, and you’ve met my brother.”

 

“You’re talking like,” Greg started, having to pause as he broke out into a large yawn. “Like I’m not.  You know this is normal to me, love.”

 

Mycroft glanced up from his mobile again to look at Greg sitting there in his punk band t-shirt, messy silver hair, and equally baggy eyes.  He stroked the area of the older man’s side where his hand rested, a tiny smile sliding onto his mouth.

 

“Come here, Gregory,” he requested with a tilt of his head.

 

Smiling, Greg set his coffee mug down and picked back up his case files.  Then, he did as requested, shifting back on the couch and leaning into the younger man’s side. They fell back into comfortable silence as they worked.  Occasionally, they would hold short conversations with each other as one of them found something, discussing the evidence involved.  Greg prodded Mycroft for his theories, and it was refreshing working with the other Holmes brother for once.

 

Even with Mycroft working it, things were still going slowly.  Greg jotted down notes and texted Sherlock, silence still settling between them. They leaned their heads together and sighed in unison, sharing a kiss before continuing.

 

As a little more time passed, both men started to get the sleep they so desperately needed.  Sure, neither of them had chosen to, but before they knew it, both sets of eyes were closed and both Mycroft’s mobile and Greg’s case file had slipped from their fingers to fall on their laps.  It wasn’t likely they’d be sleeping for more than an hour or two, but at least it was something.


	110. Their Treadmill

Mycroft couldn’t quite recall how long he’d owned the treadmill that was in his house.

 

He used it quite frequently; more so in times where he felt his diet had been slipping (which usually coincided with a smart ass comment from his dear little brother).  When he had started attempting, and then succeeding, to court Gregory Lestrade, he used it a lot.  One had to keep up one’s appearances, of course.  While he would absolutely never admit it outloud, there was a concern down inside him that if he slipped and gained back the weight he’d done a good job of keeping off, Greg might no longer find him attractive.

 

Caring had never been an advantage, of course, but now that he did, he couldn’t turn it off.  The thought of losing Greg was unpleasantly numbing.

 

When the two of them moved in together, the older man began using the treadmill a bit himself.  He joked that he never really needed to, as he had to chase Sherlock around London more often than he cared to admit, yet there were days that he changed into a plain t-shirt and shorts and went to run.

 

Most of the time, when Greg was using the exercise room for the treadmill, or the occasional weight lifting, Mycoft was either still at the office, or in his study working on something.  There were occasions, though, that he would join his partner in the room.  They would necessarily work out at the same time, because it was a bit difficult to do with only one set of each piece of equipment, but he would keep Greg company. Sometimes they would discuss a case he was working, or they would talk about their days (what they were able to discuss, anyway).  Some days they were in comfortable silence, and Mycroft would read the newspaper or enjoy a glass of scotch.

 

This was one of those nights. Mycroft was relaxing in a chair, legs crossed loosely, currently holding his second glass of scotch. His eyes were closed, and he was listening to the sounds of his darling Gregory behind him on the treadmill. The sounds of the machine, the pounding of the detective inspector’s feet on the belt, his panting…

 

Greg’s panting was very distracting in this current moment.  Perhaps it was the scotch. Perhaps it was their work schedules keeping them from being intimate with each other for the past week. Whatever the root cause of it was, it was _very_ distracting. The way he was panting, and the occasional grunting noises he was making as he exerted himself… It sounded an awful lot like the way Greg sounded when they were making love to one another.

 

Mycroft was good about distancing himself from his bodily desires when it was required.  At least, he was most of the time.  He was better at it before he started dating Greg.  Some days, though, it was all he could think about. He couldn’t stop thinking of the way Greg would touch him, or the things he would say and do, and the way it all made him feel.

 

Today seemed to be one of those days, for sure. Besides, he didn’t have any pressing business to attend to currently, meaning there was nothing that was motivating him from not focusing on these wonderful images.  He shifted in his seat as he felt heat pooling deep in his gut. Sighing through his nose, he finished off his scotch and gave in so he could turn to look at the other man.

 

Greg’s forehead was glistening with a line of sweat. His silvery hair was slightly darkened as it had become damp.  His eyes were closed and his lips were parted, huffing soft breaths as he ran. His hands were balled into loose fists, and the shirt he was wearing was also darkened with sweat on his sides and around his neck.  Mycroft stared. He knew he was staring, and he really couldn’t care less.  He watched the way his muscles hardened and flexed as he ran.

 

Mycroft licked his lips and shivered slightly. It was ridiculously arousing. He was hard pressed to ignore the erection he so obviously had now.  Swallowing, he straightened himself before standing and clearing his throat.

 

“Gregory dear, I am going to go take a shower,” he said, his voice surprisingly controlled.  He turned on his heel and left the room before his partner could respond. This didn’t negate the possibility of them doing something before bed, but he did not want to interrupt Greg’s workout session and he definitely had to take care of something.


	111. Happy Anniversary

One year ago today, Greg stood in front of Mycroft Holmes, in front of friends and family, and they pledged themselves to each other. One year ago today they exchanged rings, and their bond became official in the eyes of the law. In every sense of the word, they were husbands.

 

Now that year had gone by.  In some ways, it had flown by.  They had already been living together so nothing really changed, except that Greg could glance down on his hand and see his wedding band shine in the light and smile.  Before work that morning, the two of them had shared a rather big breakfast. Normally, they would drink their coffee and tea, Greg would maybe make some toast, and that would be it. Today, they ate properly. They spent the time together, threading their fingers together when they could, and they shared a longer kiss than normal before each of them went off on their days.

 

Greg ended up not having to go out for lunch that day. A very delighted Anthea brought food to him.  It was rare for her to have such a smile plastered on her face, but she rolled her eyes and winked at him, even as she continued to stare at her Blackberry, and departed after a quick “It’s from the boss, his head is in the clouds today”.

 

That had made him giddy.  Really, it was just another day.  But it was a big day, at the same time.  It was nice to hear that Mycroft was thoroughly distracted while at work.  As long as that distraction didn’t cause any issues in the future… Though Greg doubted that it would.

 

They had plans for dinner that night. The end of the day couldn’t come soon enough, but thankfully it did, and Greg sped home to change. He met his husband at the restaurant, who stood and pulled him into a quick embrace with a kiss on the cheek. It was about as affectionate as Mycroft allowed himself in public, and Greg couldn’t help it if he was grinning like an idiot.

 

Dinner was lovely.  Everything was amazing, as it always was, the two of them shared and finished off an entire bottle of wine, and their conversation was as relaxed and normal as it always was.  After dinner, they shared a piece of cheesecake, which was also delicious, and then Greg assumed they would head back home.

 

The car didn’t take them home, however. He looked at Mycroft curiously, but was met with a knowing smile and no explanation.  So instead, he turned to look out the window and try to figure out by their surroundings where they were going.  Soon, they were leaving London, and Greg turned to look at Mycroft in complete confusion.

 

“Why are we leaving London?” he asked, brow furrowed. Mycroft’s smile widened.

 

“We’re going to East Sussex.  Just for a little while, because I want us in our own bed tonight. But this first…”

 

That was all the explanation Greg was given. Mycroft fell silent after that and took hold of his hand, threading their fingers together.  East Sussex… Greg was trying to think of the significance. They had vacationed in Sussex before, of course, and there was a small home that Mycroft owned there, but… They weren’t staying there.  So what were they doing?

 

He thought about it as they drove. It was a little less than a two-hour trip, and about halfway through, an idea dawned on him.

 

“Are we going to Camber Sands?” he asked, turning his body to face Mycroft completely.  The smile he received in return answered it for him.  Greg broke out into a huge grin.  They had spend a lot of time at that beach when they’d been on vacation, and what a wonderful, _gorgeous_ spot it was.  Greg loved it.

 

He spent the rest of the drive kissing his amazing husband.  It started slow, but finally Greg stopped giving a shit and crawled into Mycroft’s lap in the car. They gripped at each other, kissing intensely and biting a bit, and both men ended up with flushed cheeks and panting softly.  They didn’t take it any further, though.  Not for now, at least. Soon, the car was stopping, and they were getting out and walking down to the beach.

 

Greg pulled his socks and shoes off, leaving them in a spot near the edge of the beach.  Mycroft followed suit.  Hand in hand, they walked across the sand, gazing out at the darkness of the water and the moon up above.  It was an amazingly cloudless night, and they could see the stars…

 

Together they walked, admiring the view. When they stopped, they were wrapped in each other’s arms, kissing, and it was perfect.


	112. Mutual Illness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based off of this amazing fanart that my Gooberfeesh commissioned from the talented Abitto: http://abitto.tumblr.com/post/83573151979/commission-for-gooberfeesh-mycroft-and-greg. Been excited to do this since Feesh commissioned it. Pitiful babies~

“Dibd’you get Jabes Bond?” Mycroft sniffed, wincing as he did.  He was lying in bed next to his partner, who was equally as sick as he was.  The two men were curled under two duvets with a mound of pillows built up behind them.  Greg had gotten a cold from someone at the Yard that quickly went out of control. As Mycroft had tended to him and tried to help cure the illness, it latched onto him the following day.

 

They were quite the pair.  Both of them were ridiculously stopped up, and had long since abandoned the handkerchiefs they usually used in favor of lotion-treated tissues. Said tissues were littered along the bed, as both of them were a bit too weak to deal with actually throwing them away. Mycroft would find it immensely unsanitary if both of them didn’t feel utterly awful and could really care less at this point.

 

“A’course,” Greg nodded, pulling over his laptop and propping it up on one of the unused pillows near Mycroft’s legs. He’d just put in the DVD of Skyfall, and he settled back at it loaded the main menu.  It was kind of a tradition between the two of them to watch a James Bond movie when one or both of them was sick.  It had started one day when Mycroft had been so out of sorts he was miserable, but also very bored.  It had been amusing hearing him sound so much like Sherlock, though Greg refused to comment.  So, in effort to give Mycroft’s mind _something_ to do, he’d started up a Bond marathon.  The rest was history.

 

Mycroft was sipping on a mug of Lemsip, the steamy substance causing his extremely sore nose to tingle as it worked out his stuffiness some.  He sniffed roughly, feeling the moisture trickling down.  _Ugh_.  It was disgusting.  With a frown, he looked around for the tissues, because unlike the older man had done before, Mycroft completely refused to use the sleeve of his light blue nightwear to wipe his nose clean.  No. That was a level of unsanitary the posh man would never stoop to.

 

“Grebgory, where…” he started, when he noticed the box he was searching for.  It was sitting over on the older man’s other side.  He huffed through parted lips.  Greg blinked, noticing his runny nose, and managed a tiny smile.

 

“Need these?” he asked hoarsely, picking up the box. Mycroft nodded and reached over, leaning against Greg’s shoulder, only to be denied as Greg held the box a little further away.  Even though his misery was still plastered all over his face, there was a playful shine in his brown eyes.

 

“Gregory,” Mycroft practically whined, all dignity flying out the window.  He sniffed again as he felt it slide a little further, utterly mortified by the feeling. His slender fingers were splayed and wiggling slightly, his pale eyes gazing at his lover and pleading.

 

Greg could not resist that look. He felt a piece of his heart crumple a bit, and almost instantly, he set the box down a lot closer to his sick other half.  Mycroft quickly snatched a handful of tissues and wiped at his nose, wincing again at the pain that came with it from how much he’d been rubbing and blowing.  He did all of this again, however, as he tried to clear his nasal passages.

 

“Sorry darling,” Greg apologized, sliding an arm behind and around Mycroft’s shoulders.  Mycroft sniffed delicately in annoyance, though he was too weak and comfortable to move away from Greg’s warm body.

 

“You cab make it up to be by makibg more Lemsip,” Mycroft muttered, setting the now used tissues aside and settling back into the pillows that were mainly behind Greg.  At least it gave him a reason to snuggle a bit closer.  He got extra cuddly when he felt awful.

 

“I will,” Greg agreed, turning to press a kiss into Mycroft’s extremely messy hair.  He reached over and pulled out a tissue of his own to blow his equally sore, red nose, and sighed as he sniffed in attempt to clear himself up. “But first, let’s gaze at Daniel Craig for a bit.”

 

Nodding with the slightest smile he felt okay enough to manage, Mycroft reached over with the hand not holding his mug to start the movie.  With a sigh, he settled back into Greg’s side, half paying attention to the opening credit sequence of the movie, half falling asleep in his medicated and pained state. Greg had to take the half full mug from his grip gently and set it aside so it wouldn’t spill, and he kissed Mycroft’s hair again as he settled in himself.  It was going to be a long, difficult illness, but they took comfort in each other.  It helped.


	113. You Scared Me

Mycroft was more than eager to get home that evening. It had been a long week and he had hardly seen Greg, and this evening out mark the start of a lovely, work-free weekend.  There would be lovely dinners, sleeping in, movies, and lots of sex.  The two of them had no plans to leave the house. They needed it too, with as much as they’d both been working.  Finally, they would spend some quality time together.

 

The politician sighed in relaxation as he entered their home and shut the door behind him.  Walking over to the coat rack as he did daily, he shed his jacket, hanging it up, and then put down his briefcase and umbrella.

 

“Gregory?” he called out, listening for signs of his partner in the house.  There was no response, so Mycroft hummed to himself in thought and walked through the house. He glanced in the kitchen before making his way into the sitting room.  He opened his mouth to call out again, when the sight in front of him caused him to stop dead in his tracks.

 

One of their small tables had been turned over, the book and empty glass that had been sitting on it had slid across the floor. While the sofa mostly obscured him, Mycroft saw the back of Greg’s head and one of his arms as he lay, unmoving on the floor.  Mycroft felt his heart stop.

 

“Gregory!” he called out, willing himself to move as he darted across the room.  Pale eyes widened as he fell to his knees in front of Greg, and for a moment all he could do was stare and assess.  Blow to the head, he could see the blood.  Most likely from the table that had been turned over. Breathing: Mycroft could see the slight rise and fall of Greg’s chest and the way his pulse throbbed in his neck. Finally, he reached forward with shaky hands and brushed through his silvery hair, panting slightly.

 

“Oh Gregory,” Mycroft whined, covering his partner’s forehead and feeling the slightly elevated warmth. His brow furrowed in deep concern, but every attempt to wake the older man brought about no result. So, he grabbed his mobile.

 

* * *

 

Greg woke with a gasp, followed by a groan. He shifted, attempting to move, but was stopped as a hand pressed against his shoulder and pressed him back down on the bed.  He blinked, his vision unfocused, and parted his lips with a soft whine.

 

“Hush, my dear.  It’s okay,” came Mycroft’s voice, easing through his consciousness and causing him to relax some.  His brow furrowed, and he registered a somewhat familiar beeping sound.  A heart monitor?

 

“M-myc?” he asked hoarsely, before breaking out in a cough.  He blinked, trying to clear his vision, until finally he started making out his surroundings.

 

He was in a hospital room, lying in a bed and wearing a gown.  It was a smaller room, with one chair to his right, where his partner was currently seated. Behind Mycroft and behind him (he assumed) was an array of hospital equipment and IVs, all of which he was strapped up to.  He frowned.

 

“What happened?” he asked, having to shut his eyes again as his head started to throb.

 

“You overworked yourself and collapsed,” Mycroft answered softly, taking hold of his hand.  Mycroft’s hands were so soft and warm. “You hit your head and received a concussion as you fell.”

 

Greg sighed, fingers twitching as he attempted to squeeze Mycroft’s hand.  He hadn’t been eating or sleeping well due to the case he’d just been working, but he had so been looking forward to their weekend.  It looked like his body had finally given up on him. Opening his eyes again, he turned his head to look at the younger man properly and frown.

 

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, coughing again. Mycroft released his hand to retrieve the cup of water and held it close enough so Greg could get the straw into his mouth and drink.  It was nice and cool. Felt good.  When he was done, he turned away so he could continue. “I ruined our weekend.”

 

“No, you did not,” Mycroft said, shaking his head. “They’re going to release you in the morning.  We can still have our weekend.”

 

The politician fell silent and took Greg’s hand again, his pale eyes staring at them instead of actually looking at his face. Greg frowned again and this time, he was able to squeeze that slender hand he loved so much.

 

“You scared me,” Mycroft whispered, his voice sounding small and vulnerable. “I came home and saw… Gregory, I was terrified.”

 

“I’m so sorry,” Greg responded, and their eyes locked. Emotion was spread all across Mycroft’s face, and even now, he still looked scared.  Greg squeezed that hand again. “Please forgive me, Myc. I didn’t know it would hit me that hard.”

 

He ached.  It felt like a truck had hit him.  Greg sighed through his nose and opened his mouth to speak again, but it was cut short as Mycroft leaned over the bed and kissed him gently.

 

“Of course you are forgiven,” Mycroft whispered against his lips, brushing their noses together. “And we will continue with our weekend plans.  Just…with a bit more care. I will take care of you, my love.”

 

Greg smiled, tilting his head to initiate another slow kiss.

 

“You always do,” he whispered in response.


	114. Cold December Swim

“And get officers around the block, we…” Greg was instructing, trying to keep his voice smooth, gesturing around with a shaky hand. “We t-travelled a good bit.  Don’t wanna miss anything.”

 

Sally nodded, glancing at him skeptically before turning and starting to shout directions to the officers dancing around the scene. Greg huffed through his nose and stood, shrugging away the paramedic that was trying to dance around him. He had work to do.

 

Leave it to Sherlock to give chase with a suspect in the middle of December.  Of course, Greg had to go after him, because he was still a bloody civilian… as well as his future brother-in-law.  Greg had always been a bit protective over the mad younger Holmes, though, far before he got romantically involved with Mycroft.

 

Who, speaking of, was currently striding across the crime scene, using his long legs to his greatest advantage to close the distance between them.

 

“Gregory, you’re shaking,” was the first thing out of Mycroft’s mouth, and he reached up to grab the bright orange blanket that had been draped around Greg’s shoulders and tug it tighter around him. Greg opened his mouth to protest, to move, but the look his partner gave him made him stay still and silent.

 

“Myc, I’m f-fine,” he sighed, glancing around to make sure everything was getting done properly.  Maybe he was shaking.  Yeah, okay, he was absolutely bloody freezing.  That’s what happens, though, when one slips and falls right into the Thames.  In December. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I came to see if you were at a stopping point to share some coffee, but now it seems I would very much like to get you home instead,” Mycroft sighed, running a gloved hand through Greg’s damp hair to push it out of his forehead.

 

“I can’t go home, Mycroft,” Greg started to complain. “I have too much to do.”

 

“Well you should have thought about that before you decided to take a swim in the Thames.”

 

“You can blame your brother for that,” Greg almost snapped.  He didn’t mean to take it out on Mycroft… He was stressed, cold, and a bit pissed. Luckily, his fiancé knew it was not his intention, and his icy glare was immediately relocated to where Sherlock was standing a few yards off with John.  It seemed that the doctor was giving his flatmate an earful already, which made Greg almost chuckle.

 

“I will have him murdered,” Mycroft muttered in irritation.  Greg shook his head and reached up to bring the politician’s attention back to him.

 

“No you won’t, Myc.  I’m fine.”

 

“You’re freezing.  You’ll catch your death if I don’t get you home.”

 

Greg wouldn’t deny that if he didn’t get warm and dry soon, he would definitely get real sick.  That was something he didn’t need.  As he thought about it, he wondered if it really would be fine to let his partner take him home.

 

“Donovan!” he called out, cupping a hand at the side of his mouth to give himself a bit more volume.  The sergeant turned, and he waved her back over. She glanced at Mycroft and nodded her hello, but said nothing directly to him.

 

“Yeah boss?” she asked.

 

“You have a handle on things here?” Greg asked, trying to grip at his blanket.  His fingers were going numb.  Yeah… He needed to warm up.  His shivering was dying down, but he knew he was still cold, so that wasn’t the best sign in the world.

 

“I do.  It’s just cleanup.  Get home so you don’t get horribly sick,” she said.  She nodded at Mycroft again, getting a grateful one in return, and she turned back again to continue her job.  Greg sighed and slumped his shoulders.

 

“You win.  Take me home, love,” he mumbled.  Mycroft didn’t hesitate in leading him to the black car that was wonderfully heated inside.  Before he was joined in the vehicle, however, he overheard Mycroft saying something rather rude to Sherlock, who must’ve caught sight of him.  He chuckled as his lover joined him and they drove off.

 

“Down, tiger,” he teased.  Mycroft ignored the jab in favor of pulling another blanket out from somewhere Greg hadn’t seen and draping it around him.

 

“My foolish brother deserves far worse for causing this amount of suffering for you, Gregory.”

 

“For the last time, Myc, I’m fine. It’s okay.”

 

They fell silent, and Mycroft leaned in to press a warm, gentle kiss to Greg’s cold lips.  He hummed, his eyes fluttering closed as he kissed back, feeling a bit of warmth flooding inside of him.  Now if only it would spread to the outside.

 

“There will be a fire awaiting us at home,” Mycroft whispered affectionately. “And tea.  Perhaps I will draw a bath for you before bed.”

 

“No, you’ll draw a bath for _us_ ,” Greg corrected.

 

“Very well,” Mycroft smirked, leaning back in for another kiss.


	115. First Steps

The past 8 months had flown by. Greg had almost forgotten this feeling. Being the father of a newborn was exhausting, amazing, and adventurous.  Every single day something wonderful seemed to happen, and every day he was the proud and doting father of his little Oliver.

 

Oliver grew fast.  He was a quick learner, which Greg wasn’t surprised about in the least, but it still shocked him how much quicker their boy picked up on things. Often he joked that it was the Holmes genes in him.  Oliver was very much a Lestrade in his looks: big brown eyes that got him anything he wanted and dark hair that he no doubt got from Greg.  What the older man loved though were the features that were so distinctly Holmsean, making it clear that Mycroft was also his father. The freckles were Greg’s favorite, no matter how much the younger man huffed over that inheritance.

 

Oliver was a very observant baby. 7 months in and he was testing his little legs, which Greg knew would get them in a world of trouble once he was mobile. Oliver would use coffee tables and chairs and both his fathers’ knees to hold himself up and look around with curiosity shining in his eyes that reminded Greg so much of Sherlock it was a bit scary. He would grip with his small fingers and wobble, sometimes keeping himself up successfully and others falling a few seconds later, where Greg could swear he would huff and glare at the offending appendages.

 

What started out as a calm, normal evening in the Lestrade-Holmes household very quickly became a buzz. They had just finished dinner, and Greg was in the sitting room with Oliver.  He was stretched out on the couch while their child sat on the floor, playing with a stuffed bee Uncle Sherlock had given him, and babbling his baby language to it very intently.  After a few moments, Oliver was looking around the room as if searching for something, and his eyes locked on it on the coffee table a little ways away.

 

He set the bee down and turned, as if starting to crawl that way, but then there was a pause.  At first, Greg just noted the movement out of the corner of his eye; the one that was always on the boy so he wouldn’t disappear.  He was lightning fast, after all.  However, Greg quickly turned his full attention over as Oliver stuck his butt up in the air and pushed himself to stand, instead of crawl.

 

Eyes wide, Greg forgot how to breathe in that moment. He was frozen on the sofa, lips parted in awe, until he just about freaked out as Oliver took unsteady, but successful steps forward.  It only took a few to get him to the coffee table, where he reaching for the building blocks sitting there, babbling away.

 

“Myc!!” Greg hollered, sitting up straight. “Myc, _get in here_!”

 

Mycroft rushed in from the kitchen not seconds later, pale eyes wide in immediate concern at the way Greg’s voice had sounded. He had to admit, it did sound like he had been panicking.  In a way, he supposed he had.   But it was well deserved, because their son had just fucking **walked**.

 

“What is it, Gregory??” Mycroft asked, looking around the room to see what had caused the alarm.  He saw nothing out of the ordinary, of course. Oliver seemed fine…

 

“Ollie, he… _Look_.”

 

Greg pointed, not needing to explain, as Oliver had turned and taken his steps back to the blanket, where he plopped back down and picked up his bee again.

 

“Myc, he walked,” Greg said, grinning brightly and practically vibrating on the sofa.  Neither of his girls had gotten the hang of walking on their own like that until they were close to 10 months old.  As always, their Oliver was ahead of the game as far as development went.  It was insane.

 

“He sure did, Gregory,” Mycroft grinned, taking a few steps into the sitting room, watching their son affectionately.

 

“His first steps.  My god.”

 

There was a moment of silence, and Mycroft’s eyebrow arched.

 

“Actually, Gregory, he took a few steps earlier this week,” Mycroft commented, glancing up at his husband with a slightly furrowed brow.  Greg froze and stared, his mouth dropping open.

 

“And you didn’t tell me?!” he asked, completely caught off guard.  He had missed his son’s true first steps?  Without having any idea??  Mycroft shifted, glancing down at Oliver before back up at Greg.

 

“Was… I supposed to?” the younger man asked, genuinely confused.  Greg wanted to be a bit upset, and he supposed he was, but… The look on Mycroft’s face wiped away any anger that may have wanted to come out.  His eyes softened.  His husband was a new father, and Greg knew that his and Sherlock’s childhood hadn’t always been a normal one, so…

 

“It’s okay,” Greg said, standing. He walked over to Mycroft and leaned in to kiss him gently.

 

 

“I apologize, Gregory.  I was not aware…”

 

“I know.  It’s _okay_ love. Let’s just focus on the fact that now that Ollie’s starting to walk, our lives are officially over,” Greg smirked, winking.  Mycroft chuckled.

 

“Yes.  I suppose it is.”


	116. A Drug Scare

Greg’s life had been a real strange one since Sherlock Holmes had walked into his life.  Though, he supposed it was more appropriate to say he stumbled into his life **and** his crime scene, high as a fucking kite.  Yet as he went to have him removed, this young thing had rambled off everything about the crime scene, and a few days later when the case was wrapped and solved, had turned out to be right about it all.

 

The day after that conclusion, Greg was kidnapped and taken to a warehouse.  Well, kidnap was a bit harsh, he supposed.  Not like he was given a choice to climb into that black car, though. This was where things became immensely more complicated and interesting.

 

 _An interested party_ had turned out to be this kid’s older brother: Mycroft Holmes. Did that family not have anyone with a normal name?  Greg had been irritated when he was requested to spy on Sherlock, which was peculiar because he’d only known him for a week and he was a drug addict who had no care for authority and rules, but… There was something Greg admired in him. He saw his potential, if only he didn’t have that cocaine…

 

Determined, he started working on getting Sherlock off the drugs.  Allowing him into crimes scenes when he’d stayed clean seemed to be the best means of persuasion. Plus (even though he was definitely breaking a few rules bringing a civilian into these) they started solving some of their more insane and mind-boggling cases.  It was a win win.  As well as that, Greg continued his association with Mycroft.  The older brother seemed impressed by his efforts, and they met weekly to touch base on Sherlock and just… talk.  Their friendship developed surprisingly fast.

 

What was more surprising where the feelings that budded shortly after.  Mycroft was not at all Greg’s normal type in a bloke, but… He was drawn to the man. There was power there, and yet… there was also a gentle side that Greg had a feeling not many people had ever witnessed.  So yeah, maybe he got attracted.  Maybe he developed feelings.  Maybe they went out on a few dates.  Casual, of course. He didn’t really have the guts to actually ask the man out or pursue anything romantic, even though deep down he knew Mycroft would agree.

 

As he was half-watching a football match and drinking a beer, lost in his thoughts, there was a knock on the door that stirred his attention.  Blinking, he set the drink down and stood, turning the volume of his telly down some and heading for the door.

 

“Yeah?” he asked as he opened, and then stopped short at the sight in front of him.  Mycroft was standing there, gripping tightly to a very limp, dirty, and muttering Sherlock.

 

“Apologies, Gregory,” Mycroft said, breaking the stunned silence and adjusting the weight of his brother a bit. “I was unsure where else to go.”

 

That was not something Mycroft ever admitted. He always had places to go, people to call.  Yet here they were… Sherlock was clearly out of his mind on something, which made Greg’s shoulders sag. He hadn’t seen the boy in two weeks, which was normal because he wasn’t always around, but… Obviously he’d fallen off the wagon.  Again. They had been doing so well, too…

 

“Come in,” he ushered, taking a step back and gesturing him. “Over to the couch, lie him down.”

 

Mycroft said nothing more and he all but carried Sherlock into the flat.  He headed immediately for the sofa and dropped him down, causing the younger Holmes to grunt and stare around wildly.  He still didn’t seem too aware of his surroundings.  Greg shut the door and walked to stand next to Mycroft.

 

“It’s a rather bad hit,” Mycroft commented. Greg nodded.  It was pretty obvious, and it was amazing Sherlock hadn’t ODed. Though he supposed that possibility was still there.

 

“Let me get some water,” he said, turning and heading into his kitchen.  He pulled out a water bottle and searched for a cloth to run under the faucet as well. Once everything had been gathered, he headed back in and used the cloth to clean up Sherlock’s face, who started deducing his alcohol consumption and something about his ex-wife and her cheating habits.  He ignored it. It didn’t take long, however, before the babbling man was practically passed out on the sofa. Greg stood and glanced at where Mycroft was still standing.  The poor man looked exhausted and almost terrified.  He never looked that way out in public, but for some reason, he allowed himself to look that way around Greg.  It was pretty much the highest compliment ever.

 

“He’ll be okay,” Greg tried to soothe, walking over and reaching out to squeeze Mycroft’s bicep gently. “Don’t worry. He can stay here, I’ll keep an eye on him.”

 

  1.   Wide, pale eyes shifted from Sherlock to stare right at Greg. It made a shiver run down his spine, but he didn’t break eye contact.



 

“Gregory, I…” Mycroft started. Greg shook his head.

 

“It’s fine.  I’ll take care of it.  I promise.”

 

More silence.  Mycroft was staring at him, staring through him.  He was most likely deducing every bit of him. Greg swallowed and shifted, but didn’t say or do anything.

 

That was when the unexpected happened. One moment they were tending to a drugged Sherlock, the next they were staring at each other.  Then, before Greg knew what was happening, Mycroft’s lips were on his.  Slender hands were gripping at the sleeves of his Arsenal kit tightly.  Greg let out a surprised noise, but after a moment, took the equally bold move to kiss back.

 

The kiss was passionate, eager, and a little desperate. It was also the best kiss Greg had ever experienced.  It made his knees go weak.  Finally, they parted with a gasp, and Mycroft looked almost horrified.

 

“Sincerest apologies, I didn’t… I never…” He was flustered.  The great Mycroft Holmes had no words.  Greg thought it was the cutest thing in the world.  Saying nothing, he reached out and cupped Mycroft’s cheek, causing his stammer to halt instantly.

 

“It’s okay, Mycroft,” Greg said. “Just… Let’s do it again.”

 

The noise of surprise was Mycroft’s this time, as Greg pushed himself up on his toes and initiated their second kiss. It was the start of something that neither of them had to question or try to explain.  Suddenly, it became about _them_.

 


	117. A Case Of Jealousy

“Greg Lestrade, is that YOU?!”

 

The voice was boisterous and frankly, a bit alarming. Mycroft and Greg had been in comfortable conversation, and his sentence was put to a halt as a man with Greg’s height came over with a big grin on his face.  Mycroft blinked, staring up at the intruder with an arched eyebrow and an icy gaze.

 

“J-jason?” Greg blinked, a bit surprised to see the man but obviously a familiar individual.  The older man shifted in his seat, which Mycroft calculated as minor awkwardness, and tore away his gaze to stare at his partner instead.

 

“Yeah, man!  How are you?  It’s crazy seeing you here, it’s been so long,” this Jason was saying, clapping a hand on Greg’s shoulder and squeezing a bit too tightly.  Were Mycroft a cat his hair would be standing up on end. His eyes slanted at the contact.

 

“I’m fine,” Greg was responding, smiling politely.

 

“That’s great!  Saw you were a detective inspector now, good on you. Who’s your friend?”

 

Mycroft had to physically stop himself from bristling even more and saying something rather rude.  Greg gave him a pleading look.

 

“My boyfriend,” he answered, and Jason’s eyebrows shot up.

 

“Yeah?  Well congrats man, you landed a good one with Greg,” Jason said, now addressing Mycroft. The politician gazed up at him.

 

“As I am aware,” he made himself comment finally.

 

“Does he still do that thing in bed where he-“

 

“Aaaaand that’s enough, Jas, thanks,” Greg interrupted. Mycroft glared. Clearly an ex-lover, and possibly even an ex-boyfriend.  He also seemed rather oblivious.  It was irritating.

 

“Awww Greggie,” the intruder cooed, wrapping an arm around Greg’s shoulders and squeezing him.  It was a much more intimate gesture than it needed to be, and the look this Jason was giving suggested he was still an interested party. A bold move, considering he was sitting _right there_. That, on it’s own, was most likely the last straw.

 

“Gregory, darling, would you be so kind to get a refill of tea for me?” Mycroft asked with a gentle smile at his boyfriend. Greg eyed him warily, as if already catching onto his train of thought, but he nodded and stood. He picked up Mycroft’s empty teacup and leaned down for a quick kiss to his cheek before walking to the counter.

 

“Jason, why don’t you have a seat,” Mycroft offered, with clear intention that it was a command, not a request. The man hesitated warily, but slowly sank down into the seat Greg had vacated.

 

“I didn’t catch your name,” Jason said, feeling the awkwardness but attempting conversation.  Mycroft’s pale eyes flared intimidatingly, and Jason’s own widened a bit.

 

“Because it was not offered,” Mycroft said, the ‘obviously’ hanging in the air unsaid.  He threaded his fingers together and rested them on the edge of the table. “Now, what is it you do, Jason?”

 

“I, uh… I bartend at nights, and… during the day I work with the postal service,” came the answer.  Mycroft hummed in obviously fake interest.

 

“I see,” he commented. “Now, do you enjoy your line of work?”

 

“I… do,” Jason nodded.  Mycroft hummed again, glancing at his hands as if in thought. When he looked back up, they were flaring with an even more intense threat in them.

 

“That being the case,” he said, his voice dropping a bit deeper. “You would do well to cease whatever attempts and flirting you are currently doing with Gregory.”

 

“I wasn’t-“ Jason started to protest, practically interrupting Mycroft.  The politician raised a slender hand to command silence, which he got immediately.

 

“You will _cease_ , because as you are clearly aware, he is spoken for and will not reciprocate your advances.  If you enjoy your jobs and would like to have a future with either of them, you will leave. Now.  With no attempts to initiate something of this nature should you ever encounter Gregory again.  Do I make myself clear?”

 

“Are you threatening me?” Jason asked, as if ignoring everything that was just said.  Mycroft sighed.  Normal people were so tedious.

 

“A threat implies some inability to take action,” Mycroft glared. “No, Jason, this is a warning.  Now, leave.”

 

Jason stayed a moment longer, mouth open in shock. Mycroft’s glare hardened, and it was enough to have the man out of his seat and out the door.

 

Moments later, Greg came back with a fresh tea and sat down, sliding the cup over to Mycroft across the table. He had a knowing and amused look on his face.

 

“I see Jason didn’t stick around,” he commented knowingly, grinning.  Mycroft just smiled politely.

 

“We came to an understanding,” he replied. Greg chuckled.

 

“I’m sure you did.” His brown eyes flashed mischievously. “It’s hot when you threaten people.  When you’re jealous.”

 

“I’m sure I have no idea what you are referring to,” Mycroft commented, tilting his chin a bit.  Greg’s grin widened.

 

“I’m sure you do.”


	118. We're Moving In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH to everyone so far for all your kind words. Every time I get an email notification with a comment, I get fuzzy feelings. I know I can be super bad about actually responding, but please know I read each and every one and they all make me smile. <3

“Alright people, tread lightly,” Greg was instructing to his team, all clad in bulletproof vests.  Even Mycroft.  The politician had protested, but that had been Greg’s stipulation if he wanted to be a part of this.  His duties, Greg’s ass. They were playing by his rules or not at all. “These men are skilled, they are ruthless, and they are determined. These are not your garden variety criminal, these are terrorists.”

 

“It is imperative we take one of them alive,” Mycroft commented.  Greg noticed the wary looks that were given, and he snapped his fingers.

 

“He’s right,” Greg added. “Listen, I’m in charge, but Mr. Holmes is on point.  He knows more about what’s going on with these guys than we do.  So, one left alive.  Doesn’t mean you can’t still hurt the hell out of ‘em.  Now break.”

 

Without another word, every officer broke off into a formation they had planned and coordinated properly, leaving Greg alone with Mycroft.

 

“You stay behind me, okay?  And if things get rough, you need to-“

 

“Sssh, Gregory,” Mycroft said calmly, reaching up press a finger against the Detective Inspector’s lips.  Greg huffed, but fell silent.  His brown eyes were gazing up pleadingly. “I will.  I’ll be fine.  Let’s go.”

 

“Fine,” Greg sighed. “Have I stated for the record how much I don’t like this plan?”

 

“You have, darling,” Mycroft chuckled. Greg frowned.

 

“Just… please be careful.  And carry your gun.  _Please.”_

 

Sliding up on his toes, Greg leaned in to kiss Mycroft gently.  It was the only moment they could spare.  Turning, they were crouching down and moving where they needed.  Greg’s heart was pounding, and he gripped his sidearm tightly. This kind of thing always made his adrenaline surge and his determination flare.  There was a layer of panic underneath.  Not for his own life, of course, but for Mycroft’s.  He _hated_ that his partner was here, but there was nothing that could be done about it.

 

When they moved in, things became a blur. They always did. There was darkness and shouting and bullets being fired.  People lost track of each other, but orders were still shouted back and fourth and the bad guys were getting taken out.  It was about all Greg could ask for.

 

“Remember, leave one!” Greg shouted as they were closing in, glancing over his shoulder to see Mycroft trailing behind him, gun pointed confidently.  He smiled slightly, giving himself a single moment to admire how ridiculously sexy the younger man looked.  As he turned to move back in, he heard more shots, one ringing out before three more following suit, and there was a grunt.  From behind him. Greg felt his heart stop.

 

Immediately, he spun around, wide eyes seeking out Mycroft.  He found him, right where he’d been moments before, but he was no longer holding up his gun. He was swaying, and he blinked in confusion, before looking up at Greg.

 

“Gregory, I…” he started, voice pained, and brow furrowing and he stumbled and started to fall forward.  Greg rushed to him, reaching out and grabbing him before he completely collapsed.  Falling to his knees, Greg pulled Mycroft close and started trying to figure out where he had been hit.

 

He could feel warm blood starting to seep onto his lap, and finally he found it.  The bullet had somehow snaked through the vest Mycroft was wearing and hit him on the side.  Hopefully it wasn’t as bad as Greg’s brain was currently making out for it to me.

 

“Myc, hey,” he was saying, patting Mycroft’s cheek slightly to get his attention.  Pale eyes shifted to him, and his brow furrowed again.

 

“Gregory?” he asked, voice softer now. His breath came out in short huffs and he was losing focus.  The pain was probably too intense.

 

“You need to stay with me, you hear?” Greg asked, forcing Mycroft to look at him again.  After a second, he shot his head up and screamed, “Medic!”

 

Thankfully, paramedics showed a moment later. Greg was continuing to mutter to Mycroft, trying to keep him alert and awake so he hopefully wouldn’t go into shock. When they arrived, he was being pulled away from the injured man, and it made his heart clench tightly. He groaned, hand stretched out, not wanting to leave him.

 

Finally, he came to his senses and stood, and rushed out after them.  He was going. It didn’t take much convincing for him to climb into the ambulance, and he watched without breathing as Mycroft was stripped of his jacket, vest, and dress shirt.  The suit… It was one of Greg’s favorites. That made the pain in his chest ache even more. 

 

He was doing his best to keep the tears out of his eyes, and his fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles were going white. No one was talking to him. They were hunched over Mycroft in the ambulance, talking to each other, but _no one was talking to him_.

 

This was going to be a long fucking night.


	119. Waking Up In Hospital

Mycroft registered the beeping of a machine first. That, along with a sharp, hot pain in his side.  His brow furrowed and he grunted involuntarily, shifting on a bed that was not his own and attempting to come into focus.  His head was killing him and as he started to blink his eyes open, he noticed he was not alone in the room.

 

His darling Gregory was sitting in a chair, slumped over and completely asleep.  Mycroft’s pale eyes softened as they gazed at his partner, taking in his appearance. He’d barely slept, and no doubt had not left that chair since their arrival here.  He’d been gripping his hair a lot, and hadn’t eaten. Most likely, Greg had lived off nothing apart from coffee and crisps from whatever vending machine was out in the hospital’s lobby.

 

Mycroft sighed through his nose. The older man never did take care of himself.  He would be more irritated by that were it not for the circumstances.  It had taken a little bit for him to gather himself, but the situation came flooding back once he did.  He had been shot.  The odds of getting shot where he had while wearing a bulletproof vest were rather small. Yet he had beaten those odds. It was why Greg had not wanted him there, even though Mycroft had known it had been a bit imperative that he was. But the look in his love’s eyes when he was shot… It was a look he would prefer to never see again.

 

Time had seemed to slow down when it had happened. Mycroft had never thought it could, and yet it definitely did.  His wound had been by no means fatal, but the pain… It had taken over all rational thought. Neither of them had known at that time how bad the wound had been, and there had been every possibility he could’ve died that night.

 

A soft groan emitted from him against his will, and that noise stirred the sleeping man.  Mycroft felt bad for waking the man up from what had to be some much needed sleep, but instantly Greg was sitting upright, eyes wide, and leaning over the bed.

 

“Myc,” he huffed, reaching out to grasp his hand gently. “Christ, are you okay?”

 

“I…” Mycroft started to say, but his voice cracked from lack of use and caused him to cough gently.  Turning, Greg reached for a small cup of water that had a straw in it, pulling it close.

 

“Here,” he whispered, and Mycroft got the straw into his mouth gratefully.  He could only take a few sips, but it was relief on his throat, and he sighed.

 

“Thank you,” he sighed, slumping into the bed a bit. “Gregory, I… I must offer my sincerest apologies. I should’ve…”

 

“Hush, love, it’s okay,” Greg whispered, squeezing his hand gently. “You’re okay, and you’re alive.  That’s all that matters.”

 

Mycroft nodded, glancing at their joined hands. Yes, his darling was correct. He was alive.  It had not been the first time he’d had to do legwork, by any means.  He was trained. Yet still… Something had been different about that chain of events.  Different enough that almost cost him his life.  It was a regretful experience.

 

“I should have listened to you,” he admitted after a moment of silence.  Greg nodded, glancing up at him.

 

“Yeah, you damn well should’ve,” Greg agreed with a sigh.  There was anger there, but there was no force behind it.  Exhaustion and gratefulness overtook it, Mycroft could tell. “I almost…”

 

“I know,” Mycroft said so Greg wouldn’t have to voice what he was trying to.  He’d almost lost him.  Mycroft was very aware. With the strength he had, he tried to squeeze Greg’s hand back reassuringly.

 

“Never again, Mycroft,” Greg said with a little more force. “You hear me?  Let me handle stuff like that from now on, please.  I worry about you enough with your job without you adding to it with stunts like that. I can take care of those things, okay? I need you to trust me.”

 

“I do trust you,” Mycroft sighed, closing his eyes as his head started to throb again. “But okay.  I agree to your terms.”

 

There would be no way Greg would hear otherwise. Mycroft knew this. Besides, the older man wasn’t wrong. He was extremely good at his job, and while some things were extremely sensitive, perhaps there were ways to work closer with Greg without having to be in the field himself. It seemed that would be most ideal for them both.

 

“Good,” Greg whispered, his voice shaking slightly. “Now, let’s get you better, okay?  I want to take you home.”


	120. First Kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teen AU

Greg remembered his first kiss with Mycroft like it was yesterday.  He had never thought he’d fall for a posh boy like Mycroft Holmes, or even more so that in turn, the other boy would fall for _him_ , but here they were: a punky rough kid that smoked and drove a motorcycle, and the smartest boy in school that didn’t need to drive because he had people that did it for him.  They were complete opposites that had never had any reason to utter more than three words to each other, but they had.  They had said quite more to each other than that.

 

Having been partnered together for a school project had done more than they ever thought.  Greg thought he had gone mad at first, but he felt a draw to the other boy. Soon, it had stopped being about the project, and more about just… hanging out.  Their hanging out started in the school library, but shortly, they started meeting up at each other’s houses.  At least, Greg preferred going over to Mycroft’s house, because his own was a bit embarrassing in comparison. 

 

It was one night at Mycroft’s, as they were bent over and finalizing the last details of the project, that it happened. Greg was reaching over to scribble something down in one of the margins and he leaned close, their shoulders brushing together.  They both froze, and when Greg turned to look at Mycroft, realized just how close they had become. Their faces were right in front of each other.

 

Mycroft’s normally composed, almost emotionless face was anything but in that moment.  Greg wanted to take a picture.  His pale eyes were open wide in obvious surprise, and his lips were parted just slightly. Greg felt his heart stop, and he couldn’t breathe.

 

“I, uh,” he started, licking his lips and not missing the way Mycroft’s eyes flicked down to watch the motion. That sent a bit of heat through Greg, and he decided.  It was now or never. Besides, he was known for his bold moves.

 

“Gregory?” Mycroft asked in a hush voice, as if catching onto the train of thought.  He seemed nervous, but was making no move to pull away.

 

It was then that Greg made the move. Watching Mycroft for any bad cues, he leaned in slowly and tilted his head.  Mycroft’s eyes widened even more, and it seemed that the young boy had stopped breathing, but… Then it was happening.  Greg closed the distance and pressed their lips together in a gentle kiss.

 

Neither of them moved at first. They just sat there, lips pressed together in one of the simplest kisses Greg had ever been a part of. Finally, Greg pulled back and started to manage a little smile.

 

“Sorry, I…” he started, reaching up to rub the back of his neck, when it was Mycroft’s turn to move.

 

The younger of the two closed the distance between them again and initiated what quickly became a much more intimate kiss. Their lips began moving against one another, and Greg pressed back and deepened the kiss, reaching to cup the back of Mycroft’s head and slide his fingers through very soft, slightly ginger hair.

 

What had surprised Greg the most was how damn well Mycroft kissed.  He’d always had the impression the younger man was a bit clueless on this front, and perhaps he was, but… He was matching Greg’s movement kiss for kiss, whimpering softly into Greg’s mouth and clutching the front of his shirt tightly.  Greg had the courage to swipe his tongue across Mycroft’s bottom lip, and the other boy reacted in the way he had hoped. He parted his lips and Greg jumped at the chance to slip his tongue into the other teen’s mouth, finding his own tongue and sliding them together.  Mycroft whimpered again and clutched tighter.

 

They parted with a small gasp, both panting softly, and Mycroft’s face was flush.  Greg gazed at him, brushing the back of his fingers across his cheek.

 

“Myc…” he whispered.  Mycroft licked his now slightly kiss-swollen lip and sighed shakily.

 

“Gregory, I… I don’t usually…”

 

“Was that okay?” he asked.  Mycroft hesitated, but then nodded.

 

“Yes, I suppose it was.  It was… something I’ve admittedly thought about,” Mycroft mumbled, glancing down at his lap as his flush deepened.  Greg huffed out a chuckle and touched under his chin to lift his head again.

 

“May I?” he asked, glancing back at Mycroft’s lips again.  After Mycroft nodded, Greg dove back in for another passionate kiss.

 

They officially started dating three days later, much to literally everyone’s surprise.  Even Greg’s own surprise, he supposed.  But that didn’t matter.  What did was that Greg was lucky enough to kiss Mycroft daily, and to be kissed daily, and _Christ_ was an amazing kisser he was.


	121. Lemme Give You A Ride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying my hand at a greaser!lock kind of AU

“Why don’t you let me give you a ride, eh?” Greg Lestrade asked, cigarette hanging out of his mouth.  The boy he was currently talking to, who was also extremely surprised, regarded him very skeptically.  Arching an eyebrow, Mycroft Holmes eyed the punky greaser boy over the rims of his glasses, and he shifted the textbooks he was currently holding.

 

Greg was everything Mycroft was not. He was “cool”, he had tattoos, slicked his hair back, and fell asleep with his feet propped up in class. He always wore form-fitted jeans (usually ripped), and a leather jacket with a whole manner of studs along the shoulders.  It was quite a ridiculous look, in all honestly.  Yet it seemed to suit him.

 

“Whaddya say, Holmes?” came his deep, rough voice again.  Mycroft blinked and shook his head.

 

“No thank you Gregory, I’m quite alright. I’ve never ridden on…” He paused, gazing at the motorcycle the other boy was sitting on. “On one of those.”

 

“S’not that bad,” Greg smirked. He reached behind him and held out a spare helmet, gesturing it toward him. “C’mon.  I ride safely, promise.  Lemme give you a ride.”

 

Mycroft didn’t want to.  He preferred his modes of transportation to have four wheels and actually protect his body from the concrete.  Yet, there was also a bit of a pull in his stomach that was telling him to accept the helmet and the ride.  For the type of person he was, Greg wasn’t all that bad. He was actually kind to other people, while some of the other in his “gang” were just bullies. He was also surprisingly intelligent. His marks came nowhere close to Mycroft’s own (though to be fair, no one’s did), but for someone who slept through class almost daily he was a successfully passing student. If he applied himself, Mycroft wasn’t sure just what all he could do.

 

“Fine,” Mycroft sighed, giving in. He tried not to smile at the way Greg beamed proudly. “Do you have somewhere for my things?”

 

“Yeah, a side pack, here,” Greg gestured, reaching down and opening a leather pack he hadn’t noticed before. Nodding, Mycroft walked over and slid his things in, sealing the pack and finally taking the helmet.

 

He’d never worn a helmet before either. Even when he was younger, he’d never ridden a bicycle.  Really, what was the point when your family was rich enough to give you a car that could drive you everywhere?  He peered at it, arching his eyebrow again, which earned a chuckle from the punky boy watching him. Mycroft bristled a bit and he received a pat on the back.  It made him jump and take a step back.

 

“Just tug it on.  It’ll fit with your glasses fine, don’t worry. There’s no trick to it.”

 

Huffing, Mycroft finally just stopped overanalyzing it and pulled the helmet on.  While it didn’t interfere with his glasses, like Greg had said, it still wasn’t very comfortable.  At least he was grateful for being offered the proper protection.  It was very smart to have a spare handy, he had to give Greg that.

 

Mycroft had to be the most awkward person to ever climb onto a motorcycle, ever.  He didn’t miss the people in the schoolyard gawking at the sight in front of them, and he hardly blamed them.  Finally, however, he was on, and on instinct his hands flew forward to grab Greg’s waist tightly as the contraption shifted a bit.

 

“Easy there,” Greg laughed, glancing over his shoulder. “I was going to tell you to hang on, so good on you for that. But don’t worry, it’s not gonna tip over.”

 

Mycroft was hardly amused.  But he didn’t let go, and he leaned a little more foreword so that his chest was pressing against Greg’s back.  That made him feel a little more secure.  Something he _very_ much needed, because when Greg took off Mycroft thought he might die.

 

He was having a panic attack. There was nothing else to explain it. His eyes were wide, and he really had no idea what to do with himself.  Why had he done this?  He was usually a much better judge of his actions than this.  He just couldn’t deny the older teen this, for whatever reason.  Mycroft was not the type of person to agree to anything because of a look given to him by a guy or girl.  Plenty had tried in the past, even if it was just for answers to the next test or to copy homework.  Yet here he was.

 

The ride couldn’t end quickly enough, and yet when Greg was pulling up in front of his house, Mycroft was oddly disappointed. Letting out a shaky breath, he extracted himself from the driver and climbed off.  His legs were a bit shaky, but he remained upright, took off the helmet, and gathered his books.

 

“See?  Not so bad,” Greg was grinning as he lit up another cigarette. Mycroft sighed again, but managed a nod.

 

“No, I suppose it wasn’t,” he conceded. After all, it wasn’t as bad as he’d been led to believe.

 

“This mean I can give you a ride again?” Greg asked. “Soon?”

 

Mycroft gawked.

 

“W-why would you want to?” he couldn’t stop himself from asking, staring at Greg like he’d grown another head.

 

“Cause I think you’re cute,” Greg admitted with a shrug.

 

“I’m not giving you homework to copy,” Mycroft said automatically, eyes slanting.  Greg laughed, and it sounded rather lovely.

 

“Nah, not looking for that.  You may be the smartest guy in class, but I’m not doing this to capitalize on your nerdyness.  I want to get to know you.  That okay?”

 

Mycroft paused, continuing to stare. Was it okay?  Was he…

 

“I suppose,” he sighed with a nod. He had no idea what he’d just signed up for, but he’d be lying if he weren’t slightly hopeful about it.


	122. Deerstalker

“I do not see the appeal,” Greg heard Mycroft muttering one afternoon.  The Detective Inspector hummed curiously, not quite looking up from the paperwork he was trying to finish.  Mycroft had stopped by so they could take a lunch together, but the Superintendent would kill him if these papers weren’t completed and on his desk before then. Luckily, they were just about done, and…

 

Greg froze as he finally allowed himself to glance up at his partner, and his mouth dropped.  Was he really seeing…?  Yup. He sure was.  On the other side of his office, next to the coat rack he kept near the door, Mycroft was standing and holding a bloody deerstalker hat. His pale eyes were slanted and his was obviously staring through every part of the hat, and it was apparently a very serious thing.

 

“W-what do you mean?” Greg finally managed to ask, pen forgotten in his hand.

 

“What is the draw?” Mycroft asked, giving Greg a sideways glance before turning his focus back to the hat. He turned it one way, and then another, and then upside down for him to peer inside of. “It looks ridiculous. I don’t understand why the whole of London seems to adore seeing my brother in it.”

 

Was this actually happening right now? Greg couldn’t decide if it was ridiculous or adorable.  Perhaps it was both. He cleared his throat and set his pen down finally, folding his hands on top of one another.

 

“He’s a symbol, in a way,” Greg attempted to explain. “That hat gave him a symbolic look that, for some reason, his coat and cheekbones didn’t.  I guess it just stuck.”

 

Mycroft hummed as he listened to the information, eyebrow arched.  Then, without warning, he lifted the hat and dumped it on his head.  Greg’s jaw dropped even more than it had before, and he didn’t think he’d be able to find his teeth.  Mycroft was… Oh my God.

 

“It’s an ear hat,” Mycroft commented, turning to look at Greg.

 

Now that he was looking at the sight of Mycroft Holmes wearing a deerstalker from the front, Greg couldn’t contain himself. He blinked a few times, and then very quickly burst out into a fit of laughter.  He doubled over onto his desk, and Mycroft huffed, looking slightly irritated.

 

“I don’t see what’s so funny,” he commented over the laughter, plucking the hat off his head and going back to staring at it peculiarly.  Greg… couldn’t stop laughing.  There were tears in his eyes, and just when the laughter started to die down, the image popped back up in his head and it started right back up again.  Mycroft sighed in exhaustion.

 

“Really, Gregory, it’s not that funny. You’re being ridiculous.”

 

“N-no, ridiculous is… seeing y-you… _wearing that_ ,” Greg giggled, wiping at his eyes and taking a deep breath.  Mycroft just stared at him.

 

“So it looks amusing?  And that’s why they like seeing Sherlock wear it?” Mycroft asked, still trying to get to the bottom of the mystery that was presenting itself.

 

“No, it’s just… I mean, sure it is a bit, but not to the general public.  Just…you. In that.  Never thought I’d see the day.” The image would bring Greg amusement and joy for years to come.  Maybe he’d be lucky enough to get a picture of it some day.

 

“Before you comment, you are never getting a photo of me wearing it,” Mycroft said, as if reading his mind, and turned to toss the deerstalker back onto the coat rack where it had been hanging. Greg couldn’t help but giggle again.

 

“Aww, Myc,” he started, teasing.

 

“No.  Now, can we go to lunch now?  Before you wrestle me into the damn thing?” Mycroft asked, picking up his umbrella.

 

“S-sure,” Greg said, rubbing his eyes and he still couldn’t stop chuckling over it.  Man, that had truly been a beautiful sight.  He signed his name where it needed to be on the paperwork, gathered it up, and grabbed his coat.  Together, they walked out of the office, and Greg dropped the packet in the slot outside the Superintendent’s office door.

 

“Sure I can’t see it again?” Greg asked in amusement.

 

“No,” Mycroft responded flatly.

 

“Just once?”

 

“Absolutely not.”

 

“What if we’re both naked?”

 

“You… are a strange man.”

 

“And you love me.”

 

“God help me, yes I do.”


	123. Cheer You Up

When Mycroft came home that evening, it was clear he was in a mood not to be messed with.  Greg thought it was kind of funny how easily he could tell now, even with as schooled as his partner’s features always were.  The way he held his head or squared his shoulders could give away some of the most important things without Mycroft even having to say a word.

 

“Hey love,” Greg sighed with a smile, hoping to pull his partner into a better mood.  He reached out and squeezed Mycroft’s bicep, who gave him an exhausted smile in return.

 

“Good evening, Gregory,” Mycroft muttered, leaning in and giving Greg a quick, distracted kiss on the cheek before stepping past and heading towards the kitchen, where he put the kettle on to make some tea. Greg followed him, quiet and patient.

 

“You gonna tell me what’s up?” the older man asked softly as he leaned against the doorframe.  Mycroft paused in his movements and sighed through his nose, before shaking his head.

 

“Nothing.  Don’t concern yourself.”

 

  1.   Sometimes Mycroft could be rubbish at lying.  This was one of the ones Greg could see right through.  Shaking his own head and smiling softly, he pushed himself off the doorframe and wandered through the kitchen.  He wandered up behind the taller man and slid his arms around his waist, leaning in to rub his nose against his back.



 

“Gregory…” Mycroft began.  There was a non-threatening warning tone to his voice that Greg very easily ignored.

 

“Talk to me,” he whispered instead. Mycroft sighed again.

 

“Sherlock,” Mycroft said.  Well, that pretty much explained it.  No doubt the younger Holmes brother was irritating, as he always was, and beyond exhausting.  Greg squeezed him gently.

 

“Don’t let it bother you,” he said. Finally, Mycroft turned so that they were facing one another.

 

“It’s exhausting, Gregory.  It’s exhausting trying to talk to him and having him play that ridiculous violin every single time I speak.  He’s a bloody child, he’s _always_ been a child, and there’s absolutely no getting through to him.”

 

As Mycroft finally began ranting, his voice got a bit louder and a bit more aggravated and passionate.  Greg remained quiet, listening and taking in everything he was saying.  Then, he leaned to the side and reached over to turn the burner off.

 

“What are you-“ Mycroft started, clearly looking irritated that Greg had stopped his tea preparations.  Greg reached for his slender hand and tugged him toward the sitting room.

 

“C’mere,” Greg said, tugging him across the room and over to the sofa. “Sit.”

 

Mycroft remained standing, arching his eyebrow in exhaustion.  Greg sighed.

 

“Sit, Myc,” he repeated, gesturing towards the sofa. Finally, the younger man nodded and did as instructed.  Greg stepped forward and climbed onto his partner’s lap, straddling him and leaning close to brush their noses together. “We’re not moving until I can cheer you up.”

 

“Gregory, this isn’t necessary,” Mycroft said as he gazed up at him.

 

“Yes, it most definitely is.  So sit tight and allow me to woo you,” Greg smirked. Mycroft arched an eyebrow again.

 

“You are ridiculous,” the politician commented with an eye roll.

 

Refraining from comment, Greg started kissing over Mycroft’s entire face slowly.  His hands rested lightly against his partner’s chest, playing with his tie a bit as he moved.  Finally, Mycroft let his eyes close and Greg could feel his body start to relax.

 

“Whenever your brother is infuriating you,” Greg started saying as he continued with his kisses. “Just close your eyes and think of me.  Of this. Of what all you’ll be coming home to.”

 

“If I start thinking of you, he will know immediately,” Mycroft mumbled, but there was no force behind the comment. Greg took that as a good sign. He smirked, moving his kisses slowly down that long, pale neck.

 

“Then you should make the thoughts as filthy as possible,” he commented. “Make him squirm and want to bleach his brain.”

 

There was a pause, and then Mycroft chuckled. _Victory_. After finishing his kisses, Greg straightened so they were looking at each other again.  He had his big grin plastered on his face, and at the sight of it, Mycroft started to smile genuinely as well.

 

“You are truly something else,” Mycroft said lightly. His pale eyes were even smiling.

 

“I know.  And now you’re feeling better.  I’m the best boyfriend in the world,” Greg boasted.  Mycroft nodded and leaned in to kiss him gently.

 

“You truly are,” he agreed with a soft nod.


	124. Family Road Trip

“Oh man, you guys!” Greg exclaimed loudly, grinning as brightly as he could. “Here we go!  This is my **song**!”

 

The older man turned up the song that had just started on the radio and started humming along with the opening. Behind him in the car, his youngest daughter Abby groaned dramatically and tugged her black and pink striped arm warmers down over her hands to cover her face with.

 

“Daaaaaa,” she complained, knowing exactly what was about to happen. “You said no singing!!”

 

“But Abs, it’s _Africa_ ,” Greg countered. “It’s always the exception to the rule.”

 

Abby groaned again, tugging on her Arsenal hat now (which was currently turned backwards), spinning it around and pulling the bill down to cover her eyes.  Next to the agonized pre-teen, her older sister Elizabeth refrained from comment, nose buried in her mobile as she waited for her turn in a round of Scrabble she was playing with Mycroft, who was situated in the front passenger seat.

 

“IT’S GONNA TAKE A LOT TO DRAG ME AWAAAAY FROM YOOOOOOOU!!!” Greg sang along really loudly as the chorus hit, grinning and beating the steering wheel in time with the drumbeat.  Mycroft arched an eyebrow, but continued to ignore his darling husband as he played.

 

“Myc, that’s so not a word!” Elizabeth said, leaning forward so her stepfather could hear.  He chuckled.

 

“My dear, if it weren’t, I would not have been able to play it,” he replied in amusement.

 

“Da I’m going to throw my hat at you if you don’t stop,” Abby warned, huffing and slumping down into her seat.

 

“You do that and I won’t be giving it back,” Greg smirked. “Free hat!  I’ll wear it to the next game!”

 

They continued to drive, and Greg continued to sing. He got more and more enthusiastic as the song went along, and even sang along with the keyboard solo. How exactly he achieved that could not be explained, but sure enough, he definitely did.  As the song came to an end, much to everyone else’s relief, Greg blinked and paused.

 

“This road doesn’t look as familiar now,” he muttered. Mycroft arched an eyebrow again and turned his head to regard the driver.

 

“Well, perhaps if you hadn’t been so passionately serenading us, you would not have missed the turn,” he commented. Greg snorted and waved a hand.

 

“We’ll be fine,” he brushed off. After a while, though, they were still not on track and nowhere near where they needed to be.

 

“Da, just stop and get directions,” Elizabeth said, setting her phone down as her game with Mycroft had ended.

 

“Nah, I’ve got this Lizzie,” Greg shrugged. “I know these roads like the back of my hand, it’s no big.”

 

“We’re never gonna get to grandmum’s,” Abby exclaimed dramatically. “We’re gonna be lost **forever**.”

 

“We are not going to be lost forever, Abs,” Greg laughed.

 

“Yes we are.  We’re going to have to resort to cannibalism to survive,” she said back.

 

“No we are not!!” Greg countered with shock. “Have faith in your old man, eh?”

 

The groan he got in return showed that she clearly did not have faith.  Greg wasn’t worried, though.  Just needed to take a different turn a few more miles ahead, surely… About fifteen minutes later, he caught movement in the center mirror as Abby shifted closer to her big sister and started reaching for her arm.

 

“NO ONE IS EATING ANYONE!!” Greg shouted, causing Abby to freeze.  The younger Lestrade daughter giggled, but moved to sit back in her spot properly.

 

Throughout all of the insanity, Mycroft remained quiet, now reading a book he had brought with him on the trip. After some more time had passed and they were still obviously not on the right track, however, he put his book away and pulled his mobile back up.  Abby was once again commenting on cannibalism, and Elizabeth was teasing Greg by saying that he would be first since it’s his fault they were lost in the first place.

 

“In ten miles, turn right,” came a voice from Mycroft’s mobile, and he propped it up on the dash of his car. Greg lifted his eyebrows.

 

“GPS?” he asked, glancing at Mycroft momentarily, who had gone back to his book.  The younger man hummed.

 

“The most obvious solution, of course,” he said smoothly after a moment. “After all, you’re clearly not going to ask for directions, dear, and I don’t know about you, but… I would rather not be consumed by one of your darling daughters.”

 

Greg laughed, unable to hold it back, because hearing his darling husband comment so casually on Abby becoming a cannibal was just the funniest thing.  Abby giggled and clapped over the directions that would finally get them there.

 

“Fine,” Greg sighed. “But any of you breathe a word of this to my da and you’re dead.”


	125. Meeting Mummy

Greg had been extremely nervous to meet Mycroft’s parents.  He had no idea what to expect, because that couple was the reason for both he and Sherlock, and the two of them were just so unique and insanely smart and… Well. He was a bit terrified. He’d imagined spitting images of the two Holmes brothers in looks and behavior, and wondered how quickly it would take for them to disapprove of everything he was.

 

That… was not at all what happened. Greg had to physically keep his jaw from dropping to the floor when he met Mr. and Mrs. Holmes. They were so… _ordinary_.  Mummy Holmes pulled him in for a hug almost right there on the spot and started fussing with their luggage and getting Mr. Holmes to start carrying things inside. She offered them tea and biscuits and asked Greg if he had any allergies and what his favorite dishes were.

 

“It’s about time you brought him, Mikey,” she was scolding her eldest son.  Greg attempted to cover his mouth as discreetly as possible to muffle the snort that was slipping out.  Mycroft didn’t miss it, however, and offered his partner a quick glare.

 

“Oh Greg dear, you are so _handsome_!!” she exclaimed as she turned her attention back to him.  She reached up to cup his cheeks and pat them, beaming brightly. “I’m so glad you’re here. You make our Mikey very happy, you know. You’re good for him.”

 

“Dear lord Mummy, could you be bothered to try using my full name, since you gave it to me?” Mycroft asked in exasperation, and not for the first time.  The look Mummy gave him showed Greg this was a conversation that had likely happened many, many times before.

 

They shared some tea, Mummy Holmes fussing over them both in a very sweet way, until Mycroft finally tugged Greg to the room they were using during their stay.  Shutting the door behind them, the younger man sighed and let his shoulders slump as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

“Myc, your parents,” Greg started, setting his bag down next to the bed.

 

“Are exhausting, I know,” Mycroft muttered, checking his mobile and walking to the other side of the bed to sit down.

 

“No,” Greg laughed brightly. “I was going to say adorable.  They’re so… ordinary. Not at all what I expected.”

 

“Yes, it’s awful,” Mycroft sighed. “Something Sherlock and I deal with unfortunately every day.”

 

“Aww, don’t say that.  They’re your parents, and they clearly love you.”

 

“I told you that _you_ had nothing to worry about, did I not?” he asked, ignoring Greg’s comment. Smiling softly, the older man wandered across the room and stood in front of Mycroft, leaning down to kiss him on the cheek.

 

“C’mon love.  This’ll be a fine visit.  I was the only one supposed to be stressed and worry, not you.  Relax, yeah?” he whispered, running his fingers through Mycroft’s hair.

 

“Apologies.  This is just what they do to me,” Mycroft shrugged, but he nodded. They took a few minutes to unpack before heading back downstairs, where Mycroft was pulled into the kitchen. This left Greg alone with his partner’s father, who had been quite thus far.

 

That quiet streak ended when they had settled down in front of the fireplace with small glasses of scotch.  Mr. Holmes started talking Greg’s ear off. It was such pleasant conversation, and he started to learn a lot about Mummy Holmes, and both kids inheriting their intelligence from her, and tons of stories from both Mycroft and Sherlock’s childhoods.  He jumped from one thought to the other, sometimes without a lead in whatsoever, so while Greg got lost a few times, overall it was amazing.  It was also peculiar, however, when Mr. Holmes started humming after a little while.

 

“Father, do stop humming,” Mycroft called out as he walked into the sitting room.

 

“Oh, is he doing that again?” came Mummy’s voice from the kitchen. “Just smack him, Greg, that’ll take care of it.”

 

Greg just blinked.  Like he would even _consider_ something like that!!  Mycroft’s comment did happen to pull Mr. Holmes out of whatever bizarre trance he had slipped into, however.

 

“Ah, Mycroft.  Good of you to join us,” he said, glancing at his older son. “I was just about to start telling Greg here about Sherlock’s lake experiments and you assisting him.”

 

Mycroft went bright red, and it made Greg’s eyes widen.

 

“Father, that is not necessary. Please do not bore Gregory with such inane details from my childhood,” Mycroft huffed, pointedly not looking his partner in the eye.  Greg’s jaw dropped. Oh my god, he was embarrassed. He was _embarrassed_.

 

“No, Mr. Holmes, please,” he said after a moment, feeling a bit excited and starting to grin. “What is this about the lake experiment?”

 

As Mr. Holmes jumped into the story, Mycroft actually groaned and turned to bury his face into a couch cushion. Oh yeah, Greg was loving this visit.


	126. An Inevitable Conversation

It had been two months since Greg had finally shown outward interest in Mycroft.  One month since they started going on casual dates: getting together for them and not to discuss business or Sherlock.  Then, finally, a week before, he’d asked Mycroft out.

 

So they were dating.  It was surreal, but sure enough.  They were boyfriends, for lack of a better term. Not that Mycroft would likely say that term out loud, but that was okay.  It was what they were, and it was amazing.  Greg couldn’t remember a time he had been happier.  At least, happy like this anyway.  Becoming a father twice over was in a completely different realm than finding a partner.

 

Mycroft was an absolute sweetheart, something he hid underneath that icy exterior.  No, he was truly far from icy.  He was warm and caring and amazing, and Greg finally got to see that. He’d suspected it, and he knew the potential was there.  Now, he got to experience it in full.  He felt it in the way their fingers brushed against each other.  He saw it in the way Mycroft gazed at him, care and adoration in those pale eyes.  He knew it in the way they kissed, electric and needy and perfect and complete.

 

So yeah, he was happy as hell. Even more than that, he was daydreaming. He’d admit it. Of course, in that daydreaming state, he barely noticed the black car pulling up beside him on the walk until he got a little too close to it.  He blinked, recognizing it as one of the ones Mycroft often used. The younger man hadn’t texted him, however, and while he did have a habit of showing up he usually gave some sort of signal now that they were together.

 

His confusion became even more intense when, once the door opened, he only saw Anthea in the vehicle.  Bending down, he peered in at Mycroft’s assistant, arching an eyebrow.

 

“Anthea?” he asked curiously. It wasn’t her real name; he knew that much for sure.  According to Mycroft, she changed it often, yet it was her most preferred and the one she used when with him.  So Anthea she was, Greg really didn’t care.

 

“Get in the car, Detective Inspector.” It was a comment, not an invitation.  There was no force to her voice, and yet something in her tone made it clear that he better not refuse.

 

“Um, okay?” he agreed, glancing around to make sure no officers had followed after him from the Yard for any reason. Adjusting his briefcase, he bent again and climbed into the car.  He tugged the door shut and had just barely buckled in when it pulled off.

 

Silence fell in the car.  Greg waited patiently as Anthea continued to tap away on her Blackberry. It was her constant state, really. So to see the woman turn it off and set it down a moment later was when the shock really started to wear in. Greg blinked, eyes wide.

 

“There is something you and I need to discuss,” Anthea said, staring right at him and crossing her legs.  Greg blinked again.

 

“Yeah, sure,” he said with a nod. “What’s up?”

 

“You have become romantically involved with Mr. Holmes,” she commented, clearly leading towards something.  She wasn’t just observing on their personal life for the sake of it. “He has been looking at you in such ways for a while now. I’m sure he’s mentioned.”

 

“Sort of, yeah,” Greg nodded. They’d talked about that the other night.  How both of them had developed feelings quite a while ago, and neither of them had thought they could do something about it.  It was truly amazing how they could have felt exactly the same, and a bit frustrating they could’ve been like this for a lot longer than they have.  Better late than never, of course.

 

“This is a big deal for Mr. Holmes. For you as well, I’m assuming. However, you are the only person he has decided to trust so intimately and with so much.”

 

Greg started to smile.  Yeah, that was very true.  He still wasn’t sure _why_ Anthea was saying all this, but it was nice to hear anyway.

 

“You know all this, of course,” Anthea commented. She was still staring at him seriously and, after a moment, she began to lean in. “I am bringing it up, because I cannot stress the gravity of what you can hold against him.”

 

Greg’s eyes widened.  Hold against him?  Why would he ever-

 

“You have wonderful intentions, Mr. Lestrade. Of this I am aware,” Anthea said before he could open his mouth, as if knowing what he was thinking. It was creepy. “But you need to understand, with as big a deal as this is, if it isn’t everything for you that it is for him, you could break his heart.  And if you break his heart…”

 

Her eyes slanted dangerously, and Greg felt ice sliding down his spine.

 

“There are not enough ways I could list that I can, and will destroy you.  Do you understand me?”

 

Greg was frozen.  Anthea was having the break-his-heart-I’ll-break-you conversation. This was actually happening. Silence fell between them again, neither one breaking eye contact, until Greg finally nodded.

 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Greg said, weakly but completely sincere.  Anthea continued to stare at him, before finally nodding, once, and picking her Blackberry back up.

 

“I am glad we understand each other.”

 

It was the last thing she said. They pulled up in front of his flat a minute later and he climbed out to go inside.  Well, if that had already happened with Anthea, who was bloody terrifying, he… couldn’t help but take it as good sign.

 


	127. The Last Straw

Greg wished he could count on one hand how many times Mycroft Holmes had forced him into one of his nondescript black vehicles and had him driven to the most random places in London. If the man wanted to meet so badly, he didn’t see why they couldn’t do it at his office in the Yard. Or even Mycroft’s office, he never cared to visit.  Or neutral grounds like a coffee shop or the park or _something_. 

 

That wasn’t how Mycroft worked.  That was why, once again, Greg was being dropped off in some bizarre building that he’d never noticed before.  At least this one wasn’t an abandoned warehouse.  It had that much going for it, at least.  With a sigh, he shoved his hands in the pocket of his coat and wandered inside to find the other man.

 

He shouldn’t put up with it.  If it was anyone else, he wouldn’t.  Yet… with Mycroft, he did.  Partially because he supposed what they had was kind of a friendship (at least the closest thing he had a feeling Mycroft had ever allowed himself to have to one).  It was also partially because there was a tension between them that was rather lovely. There was a mutual attraction there that Greg couldn’t mistake for anything else.  He thought it one-sided at first, but slowly things Mycroft would start to say or do was making him realize that it wasn’t.

 

He didn’t say anything.  Mycroft didn’t either.  They were hovering in this slightly strange yearning for one another that neither man had the courage or act on or the audacity to entertain as anything more. It was frustrating at times, but Greg found himself craving it, in a way.  So, things remained as they were.

 

“Ah, Gregory, good of you to make it,” Mycroft greeted civilly. Greg slowed as he entered the room, gazing at the taller man in his flawless three-piece suit and umbrella, raising his eyebrows.

 

“You hardly give me much of an option,” he commented, sarcastic and slightly amused.  At this, Mycroft smirked, huffing out a soft laugh.

 

“Yes, I suppose.  That does not mean I don’t appreciate it anyway,” came the almost snarky, but genuine reply.  It made Greg’s stomach flutter in a way he’d started looking forward to.

 

“So, what can I do for you today, Mycroft?” Greg asked, wandering further into the room so that they weren’t but a few paces apart.  He crossed his arms loosely in front of his chest, gazing at the other man, curious and yet distracted, and quite a bit irritated, to be honest.  It was always exhausting getting whisked away from whatever he was doing (which had currently been trying to clean up a crime scene, bloody important work), even if he did get to see this man’s handsome face because of it. Emotions battled within him; he wanted to be beyond pissed off at Mycroft, yet he couldn’t quite let himself. Not when he kept staring at the man’s thin lips or the way his pale eyes pierced into him, knowing so much and feeling… a bit intimate, really.  It made him shiver.

 

“There is a matter of delicacy I would like you to take into your charge,” Mycroft said, slipping into business as he adjusted the hold on his umbrella. “I have already talked to Doctor Watson as well, but it is more important than just one man.”

 

“Is it now?” Greg asked, half listening. Yeah, he could tell which emotions were starting to win out, and he didn’t know if he’d be able to stop himself from…

 

“Indeed.  As you are aware, Sherlock has danger nights.  Well, unfortunately, this one is rather major.  You may or may not be familiar with Redbeard…” Mycroft was starting to explain. “Your knowledge of it is unimportant, really. It’s imperative you get him a case, Detective Inspector.  Give him something to distract himself with.  He will not even glance at mine, but it’s extremely important he is occupied with one, no matter how simple it might be for him.  He just needs something.”

 

Mycroft was talking.  Greg was listening.  But… it had been so long.  Even still, he knew he wasn’t mistaking the signals.  No way.  Their eyes locked and Mycroft stalled in what he was saying just enough that made the older man’s heart leap up into his chest.  He didn’t know what was compelling him to take action, but something finally snapped. Something took a hold of his resolve and finally threw it right out of the window.

 

Before he could stop himself, Greg’s legs were moving.  He was closing the short distance between them, causing Mycroft’s eyes to go deliciously wide and his lips to part _just_ in time for Greg to lean up and crash his against them. There was a clatter that sounded as Mycroft’s trademark umbrella fell to the ground.  His hands went straight for the lapels of his jacket and gripping tightly.  They were up against a wall.  They had really been that close to a wall?

 

“Detective Inspector,” Mycroft gasped, breaking the kiss, but making no move to get away.  His pale eyes were the slightest bit darker, and it made Greg shiver again.

 

“Call me Greg,” he muttered, leaning back in to kiss him again.  This time, a noise of surprise emitted from Mycroft, but he was kissing back.  Sweet Jesus was he kissing back.  The posh man had to be the best kisser Greg had ever known, and it made him deepen the kiss and grip even tighter, their bodies pressing flush together.  When he slipped his tongue out and into Mycroft’s mouth, the politician actually _groaned_.

 

“Let’s… continue this… conversation… somewhere else…” Greg whispered in between kisses.  It was when he broke the kiss and started mouthing his way across Mycroft’s cheek and jaw that the other man nodded in agreement.

 

“Y-yes Gregory…” he panted. “That would be…most wise. Most preferable.”


	128. The Concert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teen AU

Mycroft did not belong in a place like this. Not once before had he ever stepped foot in here, nor had he ever sat in the middle of **any** bar watching a live band play.  No, this was not his scene.  This was, however, his boyfriend standing up on stage, singing and playing guitar like no one Mycroft had ever seen, so it was something he made the sacrifice for. So he sat, sipping quietly on a frankly mediocre scotch, gazing at the boy he’d somehow fallen for.

 

Greg was a fascinating teenager. He was outgoing and dressed insanely, and he was the kind of boy Mycroft had always ignored before. He found, however, that Greg could not be ignored. There had been a quick attraction there, for both of them apparently, and the next thing Mycroft had known they were in a corner in the library at school, kissing like their lives depended on it.

 

When Greg had approached him last week about the performance his band had been lucky enough to book at this very bar, Mycroft had been inwardly hesitant.  However, he had agreed immediately, unable to resist the equally hesitant expression on his boyfriend’s face.  Greg knew just as well just how different Mycroft’s lifestyle was from this, but this was a very important thing to the older teen and there was no way Mycroft would be too stubborn to attend.

 

Thankfully, he was left pretty much alone where he sat. It was partially because he had no desire to socialize with the strangers that surrounded him. However, it was even more because of how entranced he was by Greg.  He was so talented, and Mycroft had been treated to many private performances, so he knew how well the other teen could sing and play.  Seeing him actually performing, however, actually standing up on a stage… The boy was in clearly his element.  He owned the place, and it was one of the most beautiful sights Mycroft had ever had the pleasure of bearing witness to.

 

“Alright all,” Greg said after a song had ended. The other members of the band were setting down their instruments and beginning to head off stage. “The boys wanna get their drink on, take a breather.  So while they’re being lazy, it’s gonna be you an’ me.”

 

Greg grinned and winked, switching out the electric guitar he’d been using for the acoustic one Mycroft watched him use at his flat. He walked over to the side of the stage and pulled over a bar stool someone had set up for him, before sitting down and readjusting his microphone.

 

Mycroft recognized the first song he started singing. He recalled it being titled Boulevard of Broken Dreams, and it was one he played at home a lot. It had actually been the first song Greg had ever played for him.  The air surrounding Greg completely changed.  His energy wasn’t outward and charged like it had been during the rest of the performance.  No, there was something much more intimate about the way he was playing now. Mycroft leaned back in his chair, basking in the beauty of what was going on up on stage, holding his drink but forgetting to actually drink in.

 

With that song over, Greg moved into one that Mycroft didn’t recognize.  He didn’t miss, however, how those dark brown eyes opened and locked with his pale ones as he sang.

 

“ _Put your arms around me.  What you feel is what you are and what you are is beautiful.  Oh, May._ ” His eyes closed again and he tilted his head back a bit. “ _Do you wanna get married, or run away?_ ”

 

Mycroft felt his cheeks heat up in a blush. While the marriage proclamation was just a part of the song, he could feel the rest of the words were just meant for him.  Greg had the ability to say everything he ever wanted with just his eyes.  He sang to everyone, but he sang **for** Mycroft.  If that wasn’t beautiful, the younger teen just didn’t know what was.

 

The next song was even more heavily meant for him, that much was obvious.  Mycroft found he couldn’t breathe.  Greg’s eyes were on him the entire time, a bright grin on his face as he sang the words. Mycroft’s head was spinning and he could quite decide if “ _When you kiss me I just gotta.  When you kiss me I gotta. Kiss me I just gotta say…_ ” or “ _I’m so glad I found you. I want my arms about you.   I can’t help it if I feel this way._ ” made his heart quicken more.  No matter which, Greg was up on that stage, singing over and over again that he loved Mycroft, and only Mycroft.  His heart was beating so fast he thought he might pass out.

 

Another song was played after that, but Mycroft only half heard it.  He was gripping his now empty glass tightly, trying to recover and making sure he didn’t outwardly look like the fool he felt like inwardly.  Afterwards, Greg called for an intermission and was getting off stage. Mycroft watched the way he weaved in and out through the sea of people, all talking to him and wanting to shake his hand.  By the time the other teen made it over to his table, he had a handful of papers.

 

Mycroft blinked, peering at them. They were obviously phone numbers, all meant for him.  Mycroft felt jealousy pang in him, but that sensation was immediately sated when he watched his boyfriend shove the lot of them in an untouched glass of water. Ink began smearing and become unreadable almost immediately.

 

“Whaddya think?” Greg asked as he slid into the seat next to Mycroft.  He leaned over the table, their shoulders pressing against each other, and the younger teen could feel his body heat from being up on stage and performing instantly. He licked his lips.

 

“It was…” he started, having to clear away the lump that had formed in his throat. “It was lovely, Gregory.  Truly.”

 

“Those songs were meant for you, you know,” Greg said, completely serious, leaning in a bit closer.

 

“I-I know,” Mycroft nodded.  Smiling, Greg reached over and cupped the back of the very flustered younger boy, closing the distance the rest of the way to kiss him sweetly. He smelled like sweat, cigarettes, and alcohol, all mixed with an underlying scent that was just _him_.  Mycroft shouldn’t be so addicted to that scent, or find the combination at all desirable. He did, however, gods help him, and he kissed his boyfriend back passionately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songs referenced (in order): 
> 
> Boulevard of Broken Dreams by Green Day  
> Slide by The Goo Goo Dolls  
> Baby I Love You by The Ramones


	129. Drunk Exclamations

“ _Sssshhhh_ , Gregory, yooou’re… You’re not _listening_ ,” Mycroft hissed, leaning over and closer to Greg than he most likely had anticipated.  Greg raised his eyebrows in a bit of surprise. 

 

Out of the two of them, the younger man was not usually the one getting drunk.  Greg was feeling pretty damn tipsy, mind, but the two of them had somehow gone through an entire bottle of scotch as Mycroft had attempted to teach him how to play chess. They’d abandoned the chess game finally and were sitting on the sofa.  Mycroft was currently tangling their legs together and almost crawling right into his lap.

 

“I am listening, love,” Greg corrected, finishing off drink number whatever. “And I was not denying it either.”

 

“Yes yes yes yes, but Gregory, you may see, but you’re not observing,” Mycroft fussed.  With a sigh, he stuck one of his legs up in the air. “You need to _observe_.”

 

“I do my fair share of observing, Myc. Mostly when you’re naked and we’re in bed.”

 

Mycroft started giggling.  Yes, apparently massive amounts of scotch made the great Mycroft Holmes giggle. Greg had never seen him like this, in the six years they’d known each other, and it was something he wouldn’t soon forget.  It was so unlike him, Greg would swear he was a different person.  That also meant it would most likely be a long time before he ever witnessed something like this again, so he needed to enjoy it.

 

“Oh stop it, you pervert,” Mycroft scolded with no force behind it, turning his leg to push Greg’s chest with his toe. “Seriously.”

 

“I am being serious.  I’ve told you how sexy I think your legs are.”

 

Mycroft nodded.  Leaning forward, and wobbling slightly, he tugged at his trousers and pulled the leg up to reveal one of his pale, slender legs.

 

“Not just sexy,” Mycroft commented, pointing a finger at the older man seriously. “No.  The best. I have the best legs.”

 

“Yes you do,” Greg grinned, nodding.

 

“But you’re not observing.” With a huff, Mycroft untangled himself from Greg and started to stand.  His center of gravity swam, causing him to almost fall over, but somehow he refrained from doing so.  Greg snorted.

 

“Where are you going?” he asked, highly amused. Mycroft turned, wobbling again slightly, and reached for Greg.

 

“I’m going to prove it to you. We’re going to a strip club. Come, Gregory.”

 

“We’re not going to a strip club, we’re already drunk,” Greg laughed, sinking further into the sofa to illustrate his lack of moving. “’Sides, what would staring at a bunch of women do?”

 

Mycroft gave him his oh so common withering look. Even drunk he pulled it off flawlessly.

 

“We’re going to a _male_ strip club, Gregory, do keep up.  Now get up.”

 

It was remarkable how much more Mycroft and Sherlock sounded alike when Mycroft had been drinking.  Not that Greg would ever bring that up and say it out loud, but it was so true.  He kind of loved it.

 

“Get back here, we’re not leaving the house,” Greg sighed, reaching for Mycroft to try and pull him back down on the sofa.

 

“It’s not like either of us have to drive,” Mycroft continued to fuss.  “I need to prove mine are the best legs in all of England.”

 

“Get back here,” Greg repeated, finally grabbing hold of his lover’s slender hand.  He tugged him back down onto the sofa, Mycroft letting out a rather undignified yelp, and Greg wrapped his arms around him before he could scramble away.

 

“I believe you,” he whispered in Mycroft’s ear. “I know it to be true.  You don’t need to prove anything to me.  Stay here, yeah? Let’s stay right here and snog like horny teenagers.”

 

“We’re not teenagers,” Mycroft mumbled, turning to glare at Greg.

 

“Yeah, but we are horny,” Greg smirked. A grin slid onto Mycroft’s face as well.

 

“That we are,” he whispered as he leaned in to initiate a heated, grabby kiss.


	130. Lazy Day

Days off were the best.  Lazy days off were even better.  This was one of the first ones Greg had been able to have in ages. So if he was going to spend the day stretching out on the couch watching football matches, no one better dare to say anything about it.

 

He still woke up and made his usual coffee, as well as Mycroft’s cup of tea, and gave his partner his fair share of kisses before finally letting him leave for the morning.  He wanted Mycroft to stay home with him and be lazy too, but apparently there were some important meetings that couldn’t be ignored or rescheduled. Stupid government, needing to be governed and shit.

 

It wasn’t long after he stretched himself out on the sofa that the other member of their house decided to join him. At least he could get some form of cuddles.

 

“Hello, Remmington,” he smiled sweetly, rubbing on their spoiled cat.  He got a soft meow in return, and moments later he was curled up in Greg’s lap and falling asleep.  Greg continued to pet on him, and after a moment snapped a picture to text to Mycroft.

 

He spent the morning like this, and neither he nor Remmington moved an inch.  He switched back and fourth between an Arsenal and a Chelsea match. Both teams were winning, thankfully, and it was making for a very pleasant experience for once. With Remmington warm and comfortable on his lap, vibrating as he purred, Greg sunk into a half asleep daze, head lulling back a bit as he slipped in and out of consciousness a bit.

 

He was woken a bit after lunchtime with a soft kiss on the head.  Blinking lazily, he yawned and attempted to stretch, only to find that he _still_ had a cat on him.  It had probably been the longest their spoiled feline had remained in his lap without getting up once.

 

“What’re you doing home?” he asked as he yawned again.

 

“I can leave if you prefer,” Mycroft commented, arching his eyebrow in amusement.

 

“Noooooo,” Greg sighed, reaching for the younger man and snagging the corner of his suit jacket loosely. “Just surprised. Didn’t expect you to get home so early.”

 

Mycroft reached for Greg’s hand, squeezing it gently before tugging his suit free.  He walked around the sofa and crouched down so that they were more at eye level with one another.

 

“Our meeting concluded early, and Anthea had my schedule rearranged,” he explained quietly, reaching out to stroke Remmington’s back slowly. “I happened to recall a wonder man having a lazy day at home, and decided it would be most wise to join him.  It seems, however, that he has been taken by another.”

 

Greg snorted, causing Remmington to lift his head and blink lazily at the two men.  Grinning, Greg gazed up at Mycroft affectionately.

 

“Well, why don’t you get changed and I think we can find a way to squeeze you in,” he said, shooing Mycroft off to change into more comfortable clothing.  The posh man hesitated, not ever changing into clothes like that until it was time for bed, but then he nodded and disappeared up to their bedroom.

 

Remmington was in the process of stretching when Mycroft returned, wearing a set of deep red pyjamas.  Greg started grinning again, and beckoned him over.

 

“C’mere, Myc,” he said softly, shifting where he was on the sofa and starting to make room.  The movement caused their cat to jump off his lap in what was most likely a huff, but Greg just rolled his eyes.  Mycroft got on the sofa, moving to stretch out as well, and hooked their legs together.  Humming, Greg slipped an arm around his waist and leaned close.

 

“I must say, this is much better than sitting in a room with stuffy foreign leaders,” Mycroft mumbled, pressing a soft kiss to Greg’s forehead.

 

“Damn straight,” Greg chuckled.

 

His lazy day turned from great to fucking amazing. Remmington decided to join them again and somehow stretched out over both their laps, and even though Mycroft took over the telly and switched it over to a chess match, Greg didn’t care. He was lazy and sleepy and comfortable, surrounded by the two he loved most, and it was perfect.


	131. Had A Bad Day

Both men had very obviously had shit days at their respective jobs.  Greg had been up for almost 36 hours straight dealing with a vey complicated murder case, and a very irritating Sherlock Holmes.  Finally, he was home, and dragging his feet as he wandered through to the sitting room of his and Mycroft’s shared home.

 

At first, he had been grateful to hear Mycroft come home.  That didn’t last long. Irritation and coldness radiated off Mycroft in waves, which did nothing to help Greg’s current mood. With a sigh, he tried to push past it anyway.  They hadn’t been able to really spend time together the past few days, so he wanted to make the best of it.  Maybe it would make them both feel better.

 

“Make you some tea?” he offered in way of greeting as Mycroft emerged after setting down his briefcase and umbrella. The younger man sighed.

 

“No, I am capable of making my own tea, thank you Gregory,” came the rigid response.  Yeah, a horrible day then.  Greg shrugged.

 

“I know, I just thought I’d offer,” he muttered, arms loosely crossed across his chest.  Instead of responding, Mycroft wandered into the kitchen to start on said tea that was mentioned.  Greg followed, leaning against the counter next to him.

 

“Is there something I can do for you?” Mycroft asked as he set his water to boil.  Greg raised his eyebrows.

 

“I’m sorry, do you not want to spend time with me?” he asked, the question coming off a lot more heated than he’d planned. Mycroft gave him a withering look.

 

“Gregory, honestly.  I said nothing of the sort.  Do not make up words that were not said.”

 

Irritation flared inside the DI. He should calm down; he really should, because there was no reason for it.  They had both had awful days and that was it.  Of course, he was unfortunately a bit of a hot head, and he couldn’t help the irritation at how much of a jerk his partner was currently being.

 

“You may not have said them, but it’s pretty clear. So sorry, I’ll go,” he said, pushing off the counter in a huff.

 

“Stop being such a child Gregory, honestly,” Mycroft snapped. “I’d expect this kind of thing from Sherlock, but if you’re really going to react like this, I would rather you go.”

 

Greg froze, a bit shocked.  He stared at Mycroft, who didn’t move or say another word, before shaking his head.

 

“Fine,” he snapped, storming out of the kitchen. As quickly as he was able, he retrieved a pack of smokes from one of his jackets and walked to the back of their home and out onto the patio.  He lit up and took a long drag, trying to blink back the heated sensations prickling behind his eyes.

 

He shouldn’t take it personally. Surely Mycroft didn’t mean it. Surely he didn’t want him gone. But… why wouldn’t he? It’s not like Greg was a good fit for the posh man anyway.  He was crass, old, rough, and broken.  He didn’t deserve someone like Mycroft.  It was no surprise he would want him gone… Maybe…

 

He rubbed at his eyes furiously, irritated with himself.  He was getting so emotional.  He sighed, halfway through the cigarette when he noticed he was no longer alone.

 

“I thought you quit,” Mycroft commented, his voice hushed.  Greg glanced over briefly as the younger man sat down beside him.  He huffed out a sigh and stared at the ground as he flicked ash off his smoke.

 

“Yeah, well, apparently not,” he mumbled, not really trusting himself to look at Mycroft.  He was feeling emotional enough as it was.  Silence fell between them for a little bit.

 

“I must apologize,” Mycroft finally said. “I spoke before thinking.”

 

“No, it’s… Maybe I should go. I’m surprised you haven’t kicked me out before now.  After all, I’m a broken old cop, what on Earth could you possibly see in me? I’m lucky I’ve had this long with you.”

 

“Gregory…” Mycroft sighed.  He reached out and put a slender finger under Greg’s chin, tugging his head to the side so that they were facing one another. Greg’s mouth was set in a frown as he was determined not to cry.  Mycroft’s eyes, however, were no longer cold.  They were the pale, warm orbs Greg knew so well.  It made his heart clench.

 

“You are not broken,” Mycroft whispered, rubbing Greg’s jaw with his thumb. “I do not want you to go.  In fact, I would be quite lost were that to happen.”

 

Greg remained silent.  He didn’t trust himself to speak.  They stared at each other for a while.

 

“We have both had awful days,” Mycroft continued. “Things have been stressful and rough, and my patience has been tried more than once today.  I took it out on you. It was wrong of me, and I need to apologize.”

 

“Myc, I…”

 

“Please forgive me, Gregory.  Please understand I meant none of the harm I realize I just caused you.”

 

Greg sighed and closed his eyes, shoulders slumped.

 

“I love you, Gregory Lestrade. It was a grave mistake to ever make you think otherwise.”

 

Greg blinked and opened his eyes again. Mycroft smiled softly at him, and it made his head spin.  Then, Mycroft leaned in and connected their lips in a slow, gentle kiss.

 

“Let’s go back inside,” Mycroft whispered when they broke off again. “I want to spend the evening in the proper way.”

 

“And what’s the proper way?” Greg asked, voice quivering with emotion.

 

“With you in my arms and my heart,” Mycroft answered, before starting to smile. “And possibly a lot less clothed.”

 

Greg choked out a sob, vision blurring as his eyes welled up with tears he hoped wouldn’t fall.

 

  
“Okay,” he agreed, and he allowed Mycroft to take his hand and lead him back inside.


	132. An Hour Alone With...

“You’ll be fine, Myc, really,” Greg was saying, smiling softly as they stood at the front door.  He reached up and cupped his husband’s cheek affectionately.

 

“I don’t doubt that Gregory, but must you?” Mycroft asked, sighing softly.

 

“Darling, you look like a deer in headlights,” Greg chuckled.  It was uncommon for the younger man to seem so nervous. “I won’t be horribly long, okay? I just need to go to the Yard, sort some stuff out, and swing by the store on the way home. I’ll be an hour tops.”

 

Mycroft nodded, huffing through his nose. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be alone, necessarily; he just didn’t feel like he was quite equipped for the situation.  He wasn’t accurately prepared for this.  He shifted and nodded.

 

“Alright,” he commented, leaning into Greg’s touch and closing his eyes.

 

“You’ll be fine,” Greg whispered affectionately. “You’re great.  You don’t need me all the time.  I’ll be home soon.”

 

Pushing up on his toes, Greg leaned in and kissed sweetly. Then, Mycroft was alone. Well, not really _alone_ , but… He was alone with their newborn son. He still felt like he didn’t hold a candle in the fatherly department to his dear Gregory, but the older man was gone and there was nothing to be done about it.  So he straightened and sighed, turned, and wandered into the sitting room.

 

Their son, Oliver Lucas, was asleep on the sofa. Walking over, Mycroft placed his hands on the back of it and gazed down at the slumbering infant. He was just about two weeks old with a surprisingly full head of dark hair.  His lips were parted as he slumbered, having not mastered the ability to completely breathe through his nose alone, and one of his extremely small hands was balled up in a fist.  Oliver often slept this way, clutching nothing but clutching nonetheless, and Mycroft just let himself admire the sight.

 

He smiled affectionately at his son. Yes… his son.  His and Gregory’s.  He was the most beautiful child Mycroft had ever seen.  He truly believed this, even if he was a bit biased to that fact. Perhaps he could do this. If Oliver slept the majority of the time, he’d have nothing to worry about.

 

Mycroft quickly learned, however, that he was not so lucky.  After a few moments of admiring the sleeping infant, he’d moved around the sitting room to pick up the few toys and blankets that were strewn about, and that was when Oliver roused with a cry.  Mycroft froze, blinking as he watched his son completely wake up, bending and unbending his legs and waving his arm around as he cried.  Dropping the stuffed Rubik’s Cube John and Sherlock had given him, Mycroft walked over and knelt down in front of the sofa.

 

“I’m here, Oliver,” he said in a gentle, hushed tone, reaching out so the boy could grab onto his slender finger. Oliver did, gripping his index finger tightly, and turned to gaze up at his father with big brown eyes that were _all_ Lestrade-inherited. They had started as more of a gray color, having not decided which way to go yet, but they quickly became almost identical to his other father’s.  This was not good for Mycroft, of course.  Having two pairs of big puppy brown eyes to gaze at him? Lord no.

 

“What’s wrong love?” he asked, brushing back the child’s fuzzy hair as he continued to cry. “Are you hungry?”

 

He was trying to remain surprisingly calm, even though he felt entirely inadequate in this current situation. It had been a few hours since Gregory had given him his last bottle, so perhaps that was it. So, making sure Oliver was secure on all sides and couldn’t roll off the couch, he stood and strode into the kitchen to prepare a bottle.

 

Part of him truly hated leaving Oliver in the other room crying, but unlike his husband, he had not come close to mastering doing tasks with one hand as he held Oliver in his other.  He recalled everything he’d watched Greg do hundreds of times, and had done a few times himself.  Making a bottle really wasn’t all that difficult, and once it had reached sufficient warmth, he walked back into the sitting room with it.

 

“Alright, Oliver, come here,” he said softly, picking up his son and attempting to get the nipple of the bottle in his mouth. He was denied more than once. Mycroft frowned, unsure why he wouldn’t take it.  Was he not hungry? Why was he crying then?

 

It became clear again after a moment, and Mycroft felt a tad bit of dread at the realization.  His diaper needed changing.  It should be an easy task, really, but it was not something Mycroft had gotten the hang of yet.  With a soft groan, he set the bottle down and stared helplessly at his crying son.

 

He shifted to lay him back down on the sofa and pulled over the small bag they kept in the sitting room so they wouldn’t have to go all the way back to the bedroom for supplies.  He pulled out wipes and a diaper and… stared helplessly at them. So, swallowing his pride, he reached for his mobile to make a call, setting it on speaker so his hands could be free.

 

“Yes, sir?” came the answer.

 

“Anthea,” Mycroft sighed. “I need your assistance.”

 

“What is it?” she asked, clearly going into action mode.

 

“Nothing of that nature,” he placated, as Oliver’s cries were most likely reaching the phone now. “I need… to change Oliver’s diaper…”

 

There was silence for a moment, before a soft giggle sounded from the other side of the phone.

 

“Anthea,” he sighed in annoyance. “Just… please. Gregory is at the Yard and I already feel ridiculous.”

 

“Alright boss,” she continued to chuckle. She did, however, shift into a helpful mode and spent the next several minutes helping to walk him through the steps over the phone.  He recalled the motions once he was doing them, and it ended up being much easier with Anthea’s assistance, and soon Oliver was in a clean diaper and seemingly much more happy.

 

“Thank you Anthea.  I will see you in the morning.”

 

Call completed, he reached over and picked up Oliver, holding him close.  The infant was still sniffling, but his eyes were now dry, and he was staring at his father instead.  Then, he reached out to grab for Mycroft’s nose, grinning.  Yes, he’d also inherited Greg’s grin.  Mycroft really stood no chance.


	133. Staying Up Late

Mycroft had been gone on a business trip. This happened fairly frequently, in all honesty, due to his very important “minor position” in the British Government.  There were always lots of meetings and negotiations of nature Greg was rarely privy to, though _sometimes_ he was allowed to know. Those times were lovely, because it was so nice getting to actually hear Mycroft talk about his work.

 

He would be returning tonight, and Greg was very excited.  He’d been gone for two weeks now, and having only planned for one week, it was excruciating for both of them having to wait twice as long to be together again. Earlier in the day, Mycroft had texted Greg his itinerary, and it looked like he’d be home early enough for them to still have dinner.

 

So, about half an hour before Mycroft was expected home, Greg started making dinner.  He started working on an old, genuine French recipe of his da’s that Mycroft had immensely enjoyed when they’d visited his family.  Overall, it took about 45 minutes to prepare, which should have been perfect timing for Mycroft having arrived just before its completion. Unfortunately… that was not the case.

 

Dinner was done with no sign of Mycroft. Greg started checking his mobile, but there was no email or text waiting for him.  He hadn’t missed any calls.  He thought perhaps it was a bit of a delay, so he sat in the kitchen and kept the meal warm.

 

Another half hour passed, and still nothing. With a tiny sigh, Greg worked on getting the food stored so they could reheat it once he did finally get home. Once all that was done, he attempted to call the other man.  It went straight to voicemail, though if Mycroft was on a plane, he might have turned it off. He sighed, running a hand through his hair and pocketed his mobile to do some stuff around the house.

 

He got a text from Anthea a little while later informing him that a meeting had gone over, which had set Mycroft’s departure time back. That’s what he had assumed, but it soothed his nerves to hear from at least one of them.  Just running late.  Greg felt a new burst of energy and optimism at that.  Surely he wouldn’t be too much longer then.

 

As night hit, Greg decided to make some tea. Out of habit, he prepared two cups, but in glancing at the clock, didn’t see an issue with it. He carried the two cups into the sitting room and got comfortable on the sofa, setting one on the coffee table and drinking out of his slowly as he watched the news on the telly.

 

Mycroft finally arrived home an hour later. With a sigh, he set his umbrella and briefcase down next to the coat rack, as he always did, and slipped out of his coat to hang up as well.  Glancing around, he wandered through the house and heading towards the sitting room where he heard the telly.

 

“Gregory?” he asked as he entered, and then slowed as he saw his partner asleep on the couch.  He smiled affectionately, pausing for a moment before walking over to the slumbering older man.  Leaning over, he reached out and ran his fingers through Greg’s hair, causing him to stir and yawn.

 

“Hey,” he grinned widely upon realizing who was home. He grunted slightly and pushed himself to sit up. “Only been asleep for a moment, I promise.”

 

“You should have gone to bed, darling,” Mycroft chuckled softly. “Apologies for running so late, the meetings went on much longer than they should have.”

 

“Anthea told me.  I’m just glad you’re home.” Greg stood and stretched, before wrapping his arms around Mycroft’s neck and kissing him gently.  He smiled against his partner’s lips, nuzzling before speaking again against his lips. “I made tea, but it’s probably cold. There’s also dinner, I can reheat it if you want?”

 

“That’s quite alright,” Mycroft smiled, shaking his head.  He cupped Greg’s cheek before leaning in to kiss him again. “Let’s just go to bed, we can eat later. If the food will keep?”

 

“It will,” Greg nodded.  They kissed again and then threaded their fingers together, Mycroft leading them through the house and to their bedroom. It was so lovely to have him home again.


	134. Who Are You?

Sherlock’s flat was empty, unsurprisingly. It was unoccupied more often than not, and Mycroft sighed as he watched over the surveillance feed. No doubt Sherlock was somewhere getting high again… His little brother’s drug habit was worrying, and Mycroft’s worrying was exhausting.  No matter what he did, though, he just could not get through to Sherlock.

 

Part of him wondered if Sherlock did it to spite him. Their history was a complicated one, and some days Mycroft found himself missing the younger days when the two of them actually got along.  It felt like an eternity had gone by since then.  The tension between them was at an all-time high, and Sherlock loathed being in his presence, even though he was just trying to help. He truly cared about him, and his worry was constant.

 

He turned to work on some paperwork, having a lot more responsibilities in his newest position (he had been promoted two months prior).  After a while, however, movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Blinking, he turned back to the screen showing Sherlock’s flat again, expecting to see the younger Holmes stumbling in and falling onto the couch like he’d done multiple times before. What he saw instead… surprised him.

 

His eyebrows lifted high as he watched Sherlock being walked into the flat by a man he hadn’t seen before.  The man was older, his dark hair starting to gray around his temples.  He had lines on his face that had settled in over the years, and it was clear he wore a lot of expression on his face.  He had an authoritative air about him, and even as he basically supported Sherlock’s full weight, still held himself straight and strong.

 

Mycroft completely forgot about what he was doing as he watched this man take Sherlock across and lower him down on the sofa. His little brother was obviously very drugged up, but it still looked like he was protesting.  Quickly, Mycroft reached across the table to turn on the sound.

 

“Come off it Lestrade,” Sherlock was mumbling, almost incoherently, trying to wave the other man away.

 

“Sod that,” came a deep, rough voice from this… Lestrade.  Mycroft scribbled the name down on the top of a note pad.  He had a lot of research ahead of him.

 

“M’fine,” Sherlock muttered in annoyance, rolling and curling into the couch.  Mycroft could tell his body was shaking.  So he was coming down from a high, then.

 

“No, you were in a crack den,” Lestrade argued. “You’re bloody lucky my men came along, and a hell of a lot luckier I was with them. I should’ve arrested you, you know.”

 

  1.   So this Lestrade was a cop.  Worked for the Yard, most likely.  A sergeant, perhaps? He had a team apparently, so he had some kind of authority, but he didn’t seem to be extremely high up on the chain of command… Clearly he would have to be just unnoticeable enough to be able to get away with not arresting an extremely drugged up man like this. Why didn’t he arrest him, though? This was peculiar.



 

“You were in the wrong place,” Sherlock said, and Mycroft recognized him slipping into a mode of deduction both Holmes brothers were known for. “You need to go to the one down the road, the one…”

 

“You hush.  I don’t give a rat’s arse about these insane deductions right now,” Lestrade fussed, pointing a finger at Sherlock seriously.  So he was aware of the deductions.  This was obviously nowhere near their first encounter. How was it Mycroft had not known of this man until now?

 

“You’ll never be Detective Inspector at this rate,” Sherlock said in a degrading voice.

 

“I don’t give a shit.  I’m making you tea, you’re going to bloody drink it, and then you’re showering.  Then I’m putting you to bed.  And don’t you _dare_ think about sneaking out the minute I’ve left, you hear? Don’t think I don’t expect it.”

 

As this older man was saying all this, he was moving around the flat and disappearing into the joke that was Sherlock’s kitchen. Making tea, Mycroft supposed. The longer he listened and watched, the more shocked he became.  Shocked, and… relieved?  This man was taking care of Sherlock.  More important, Sherlock was letting him.  Icy pale eyes began to soften as he watched Lestrade kneel down next to the sofa and help Sherlock drink his tea.  He also had a flannel that he started pressing against the younger Holmes’ forehead and cheeks.

 

Mycroft continued watching long after he’d left. He just stared at the empty sitting room, Sherlock in bed and most likely actually asleep, eyes locked on where he’d been kneeling.  Lestrade… A quick document revealed the man to be Gregory Lestrade, sergeant at New Scotland Yard. Married, two kids, one just born…

 

Mycroft chewed on his bottom lip gently. He needed to meet this man. He was feeling strange, something he’d never felt before.  He had a yearning to know this man, to… Mycroft wasn’t sure.  But unknowingly to either of them, really, this sergeant had done something to him, and it was only the beginning.


	135. Go For A Ride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teen AU

“So this is where you’ve been,” Mycroft commented as he wandered into the small garage.  His arms were crossed loosely in front of his chest and he gazed around, his nostrils assaulted by the pungent smell of gasoline and rubber and metal. It really wasn’t a pleasant smell, and if he didn’t associate it with his boyfriend, he would dislike it entirely.

 

“Yeah, sorry,” came Greg’s voice, and he slid a bit where he was laying on his back on the concrete floor.  Shortly, his head appeared from under the motorcycle that he always drove, a wrench in his hand and a smudge of oil on his cheek. It was, frankly, adorable. “Just giving her a tune-up, what with the weather changing and all. I didn’t know you were here!”

 

“Not to worry, I haven’t been here long,” Mycroft smiled, gazing affectionately at the older teen as he stood and walked over. He had a flannel in his hands that he was using to wipe clean, and even as he stepped close he didn’t reach out for Mycroft as he usually did.  It was very thoughtful.

 

“I should get cleaned up,” he commented with a chuckle. “Would you wanna go for a ride?”

 

Mycroft blinked, eyes widening as he gazed at the older boy.  He took a moment to peer at the vehicle, before looking back at Greg and arching his eyebrow.

 

“On that?”

 

“Of course!” Greg said as he started laughing. “It’s perfectly safe.  I haven’t had the chance to take you on it yet.  We should go!  I bet you’d like it.”

 

Mycroft hesitated for a moment. He trusted Greg, of course, but… He’d never been on a vehicle that only had two wheels before. He never even owned a bike, like most children did.  Neither he nor his little brother Sherlock had any interest in such things. Granted, he had seen Greg drive it multiple times, and the boy was really a natural with it.

 

Somehow, even though he was still wary, Mycroft found himself agreeing.  The excited look on Greg’s face was pretty much worth it, though, and his bright grin was immensely infectious.  So, Mycroft waited while Greg changed clothes and wiped himself down, without needed to take a full shower.

 

“Alright,” he announced as he came back out. “First.”

 

He strode swiftly, closing the distance between them. Bringing his hands up, Greg cupped Mycroft’s cheeks and leaned in to kiss him sweetly.  Mycroft returned the kiss eagerly, one arm going around his shoulders and hugging him close.  They remained like this for a moment before parting, and Greg rubbed the soft skin of Mycroft’s cheek before walking over to his bike.

 

“Here,” he prompted, carrying a helmet over and handing it out to the posh boy.  Mycroft took it with hesitation, eyeing it.  Greg chuckled. “Come on, love, it’ll fit fine.”

 

Greg was pulling one on himself, and Mycroft watched silently before doing the same.  It felt strange.  It was snug, but he supposed that was the point, and after shifting how it sat on his head a few times, he felt overall satisfied with it.  Greg was climbing onto the bike and gesturing for him, reaching out to take his hand gently.  Mycroft gripped it as he followed suit, carefully lifting his leg and settling in behind him.

 

It wasn’t so bad.  At least, not at first.  When Greg shifted and the bike rocked, Mycroft jumped and clung to the boy in front of him tightly.  Greg laughed.

 

“You’re _fine_ ,” he smiled, reaching a hand down to squeeze Mycroft’s arm reassuringly. “Trust me.  Just relax, and you’ll start to enjoy it.”

 

As he usually was with these kinds of things, Greg was right.  Once they took off and started driving down the road, Greg took a few turns and began heading out into a more secluded, countryside type area.  The sun was out and the temperature was comfortable, and soon Mycroft completely forgot about the bike.  He hugged onto Greg gently, leaning against his back and gazing at the scenery that they passed.  He had to admit that it was all rather lovely.  He couldn’t help but smile in content over it all.

 

Mycroft wasn’t sure how long they rode for, but soon Greg was pulling off to the side and turning off the engine. Propping the bike up properly on its kickstand, he climbed off and then reached for the younger boy’s hand again to help him off as also.  They both removed their helmets and Greg secured them to the bike.

 

“Well?” he asked, smiling brightly.

 

“It wasn’t so bad,” Mycroft admitted with a soft smile. Greg’s grin widened and he reached for his boyfriend’s hand, threading their fingers together.

 

“Now c’mon,” he said as he started to lead Mycroft into the grass and over towards some trees. “I wanna show you one of my favorite places.”


	136. May Guest Writer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guest writer: http://theredheadinquestion.tumblr.com :D

The British Government tapped the handle of his umbrella and sighed as the black car sped through London. Anthea had ensured the traffic lights worked in his favour, but it was still too slow for his liking. He faulted the Americans, really. A simple weeklong conference had dragged into a fortnight, thanks to their egocentric puffery. And here he was, nearly late for his holiday with Gregory.

Gregory. Just the name was a balm for his frayed nerves. It’s what kept him sane through the ordeal. They had planned the holiday—their first—long before the set of meetings became necessary. Even then, he’d been assured they would conclude in plenty of time for their getaway. He should have known better.

Mycroft closed his eyes and locked away remnants of the conference. It was over; any remaining details could keep until his return. Yes, time to focus on Gregory. It had been two long weeks without him. The fourteen days without the caresses and kisses that kept him—and by extension, a good part of Europe—calm and collected were incredibly wearing. He opened his eyes and smiled, his first real one in days, when he realized they were in Gregory’s neighbourhood. He was mere minutes from his love.

The car stopped outside the modest building and Mycroft hurried up the steps. He opened the door with his key and stepped inside. 

“Gregory?”

“Myc!” Greg appeared in the bedroom doorway and Mycroft dropped his umbrella.

This was not his Gregory. His Gregory was clean-shaven with neatly combed hair. His Gregory wore dress shirts and trousers (at work) or jeans and a tee (everywhere else). But this…this version was entirely different. His hair was slightly overgrown and messily swept back. He wore a soft mocha shirt that revealed more of his chest than was usual. Rose coloured cords hung round his neck and displayed several small charms, while leather cording was wrapped round his right wrist.

And then there was the lack of a clean-shaven face. This Gregory wore a beard. A short, salt and pepper beard that perfectly matched the hair on his head.

Greg grinned, crossed the few feet between them and pulled Mycroft into a fierce hug. His facial hair was softer than it looked. 

“You…you haven’t shaved.”

“What? Oh, yeah.” Greg took a step back and rubbed his beard. “I never shave on holiday…or in the days leading up to it. Helps get me into the spirit of things. D’ya like it?”

Mycroft realized his mouth was hanging open. He closed it and swallowed hard. His throat suddenly felt dry. Gregory was beautiful—more beautiful than usual. He was sex personified.

Bearded Gregory looked at him expectantly.

“Myc? Are you okay?” 

“Uh…yes.” Mycroft closed his eyes for a moment to collect his thoughts. When he opened them again, the gorgeous bearded creature was still looking at him. His trousers grew tight. “It’s just…your beard.” 

Greg froze. “You don’t like it? I mean, I know I look scruffy. But I figured since we’re going on holiday…”

Mycroft took a step forward, cupped Greg’s jaw with both hands, and crushed their lips together. Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s waist and pulled him closer. The British Government released his boyfriend’s lips and rained kisses along his jaw, down to his chin, and up the other side. Greg chuckled. 

“I take it you approve.”

Mycroft released Greg, twined their fingers together and pulled him into the bedroom.

“God yes.”


	137. Guess What I Found?

The night started like most.  Both Greg and Mycroft got home at a surprisingly reasonable time that evening, Greg changed into more comfortable clothes, and started working on dinner.  They ate and conversed throughout, comfortable and just _happy_ in one another’s company.  After dinner, Mycroft cleaned up the dishes, and together they moved into the sitting room.

 

Mycroft poured them both a glass of scotch and they stretched out on the sofa as they enjoyed them.  Greg sat with his legs stretched out along the length of the sofa and his back against the arm, and Mycroft settled in between them, leaning back against Greg’s chest.  Mycroft might have been the taller of the two, but this was how they always ended up.

 

Once they were done with their drinks, Greg leaned forward to set aside their empty glasses.  When he settled back in, Mycroft snuggled in more, turning into the older man’s body and relaxing with a sigh.  Greg smiled, pressing a kiss into his hair, before bringing his hand up to run through the soft strands slowly.

 

Mycroft let his eyes fall closed, a content smile on his face, and Greg continued to play with his hair.  They were quiet for a while, and Mycroft was starting to fall into a light doze when he heard Greg hum in interest.

 

“What is it?” Mycroft asked softly, blinking his pale eyes open and turning slightly to gaze up at Greg.  His eyebrows were raised, and Mycroft arched one of his eyebrows in return.

 

“I found a strand of gray,” Greg said, a slightly amused smile playing on his face.  Mycroft froze, eyes going wide in shock, and he shot up into a rigid sitting position as he twisted at the waist.

 

“You _what_?” he asked sharply.

 

“Welcome to the club, love,” Greg smirked in amusement. **Amusement**. He was sitting there as if this wasn’t the biggest issue they’d faced in weeks.

 

“Surely you are mistaken,” he huffed, bristling inwardly. “There’s no way I’m getting gray.  No way.”

 

“Awwww, it’s okay Myc,” Greg attempted to soothe, reaching out to rub his bicep gently. “There’s nothing wrong with a little gray. I mean, hell, I’m covered in it and I’m okay.”

 

“Yes, but that’s because it makes you look distinguished,” Mycroft frowned. “Your silver is extremely sexy. I have quite enough imperfections I already deal with, I am not going to add another.”

 

Turning, Mycroft pulled his mobile out of his pocket and started to compose a new text.  Greg sighed, shaking his head, and leaned forward to wrap his arms around the panicked man’s waist.  He kissed his shoulder and reached out to grab the hand that had the mobile.

 

“What are you doing?” he asked softly, still extremely amused.

 

“Texting Anthea.  She needs to bring me at least three bottles of hair dye. To start.”

 

Groaning, Greg leaned forward just a bit more and wrestled the mobile out of his partner’s grasp.  He ignored the noise of protest that Mycroft let out and put the device on the table next to their glasses.

 

“You do not need hair dye!” he said in exasperation. “Myc, darling, it’s just one strand of gray.  And it’s under your hair, closer to your scalp. No one will see it.”

 

“That doesn’t matter, I know it’s there,” Mycroft practically pouted, leaning back into Greg again reluctantly. Greg rubbed along his side gently, leaning in to kiss his cheek and nuzzling gently.

 

“You’ll be distinguished too,” Greg whispered affectionately.  Mycroft rolled his eyes, but leaned into the affectionate gestures.

 

“You have met my father, haven’t you, Gregory? I am not suited for those genes.”

 

Greg ignored that quip about the Holmes family, and instead reached for Mycroft’s hand and threaded their fingers together loosely and squeezing.  Slowly, Mycroft began to relax again, even though Greg knew he was still a bit huffy over it. He couldn’t help but find it at least a little adorable.

 

Finally, he grinned widely as he pulled Mycroft back into him.

 

“Hey,” he whispered.  Blinking, Mycroft turned to look at him again, curiously. His gaze got even more curious as he saw the big grin sliding onto Greg’s face.

 

“You wanna check me for grays?” he asked with a chuckle.  Mycroft scoffed and smacked him on the chest, which made Greg laugh out loud.


	138. Family Quarrel

“Good lord, this is absolutely ridiculous,” Mycroft was scoffing in utter irritation, crossing his arms. “Can you stop being a child for two bloody seconds?”

 

“Please, like you’re one to talk,” Sherlock snapped from where he was slumped in his leather chair.  Once again, the Holmes brothers just didn’t know how to have a civil conversation.  It was kind of exhausting.

 

Over on the sofa, Greg sighed, shaking his head as John sat next to him with his arms crossed.

 

“These are the men we’ve decided to spend the rest of our lives with,” Greg muttered, listening to the two of them go at it.

 

“Yep,” John sighed, running a hand through his sandy hair. “You think there’s something wrong with us?”

 

“There’s definitely something wrong with us,” Greg snorted in amusement. “But god help us, we love the bastards.”

 

They fell silent for a moment, gazing at the two grown men across the room acting like 5-year-olds.  Greg and Mycroft had stopped by, Greg to bring John a movie they’d been talking about and Mycroft to bring by some case files. Of course, moments after the case files had been brought up, this started happening.  It was exhausting watching the two of them go at it like that.

 

“We really do,” John nodded, glancing over at his best mate. “Hell, you two are gonna be married soon.”

 

Greg felt warmth flood in his chest. They sure were. Three months ago he and Mycroft had become engaged, and it was just bloody brilliant.  He loved that crazy man over there.

 

“Yep, somehow,” he grinned widely. “I’m fuckin’ lucky.”

 

John smiled sweetly at him, before cringing at the insults he heard being thrown back and fourth between Mycroft and Sherlock. He sighed again.

 

“I’m happy for you, Greg.  It’s an amazing thing.  It’ll be good for you two, for sure.”

 

“You ever think about it for you and Sherlock?” Greg asked curiously.  John didn’t say anything at first, turning back to look at the two of them, before shrugging.

 

“I dunno.  I mean, I _have_ ,” John admitted, crossing his legs and leaning back against the sofa a bit. “Especially with you two getting engaged.  But… I don’t think Sherlock would be too keen on the idea.  He scoffed over the news with you two.  I think I’m okay accepting that’s not the life for us.”

 

“Don’t rule it out,” Greg commented, looking at him pointedly. “He might surprise you.  Lord knows Mycroft did.”

 

“Yeah, I s’pose,” John shrugged again. Greg nudged him gently and grinned.

 

“John, tell him I’m too busy,” Sherlock whined, looking over at his flatmate turned boyfriend almost pitifully. John, however, was not taking any pity on him, and he shook his head.

 

“You were complaining your boredom this morning,” he commented.  Sherlock groaned.

 

“Lestrade, if you have time to sit there, you have time to go find me a case,” he snapped, still glaring at Mycroft. “Or are you too busy trying to keep my brother happy now?”

 

“There’s no trying to it,” Mycroft snapped, fuming in irritation. “Leave Gregory alone.”

 

“Oh so you’re his protector now?” Sherlock snapped back.

 

“Oy, I don’t need a protector,” Greg spoke up, huffing and crossing his arms now.

 

“Come on girls, stop now,” John said, directed at the two Holmes brothers. “This is getting exhausting.”

 

“He started it,” both Sherlock and Mycroft said at the same time.  Silence fell over 221B, before both Greg and John burst out laughing.  They got identical looks of irritation from their respective significant others, which only made them laugh harder.

 

“I fail to see what is so hilarious,” Mycroft muttered, arching an eyebrow.

 

“No doubt something ridiculous and _common_ ,” Sherlock said with a sigh.  It took a moment for Greg and John to calm down (a moment too long in the Holmes brothers opinions), but finally, they stopped laughing and sighed.

 

“Wanna go to the pub, John?” Greg asked, standing.

 

“Mmmm?  Yeah, sure,” John nodded, standing as well.

 

“I am not going to that filthy pub,” Sherlock said, tilting his chin up.

 

“Didn’t ask you,” Greg said, grabbing his coat. “You two stay and duke this out.  Myc, I’ll be back in a bit and we can go home, yeah?”

 

Neither man waited for a response before they were down the steps and out the door, leaving behind two baffled, irritated Holmes men.


	139. Insufferable Woman

Mycroft was stressed.  Catastrophic matters in North Korea made things bad enough on their own (And it was _always_ North Korea, wasn’t it?  It was exhausting.). On top of that, his dear Gregory had been very horribly injured on a case and was in the hospital. That was where he currently was, seated in the chair next to the hospital bed, reading classified files as his darling slept beside him.

 

He was all right.  He would pull through, and would most likely only be in hospital for a few days before he was released into Mycroft’s care.  Alas, that did nothing to alleviate the stress and pain of seeing Greg lying in that bed, pale and exhausted-looking, even though all he was doing was sleep.  He had lost a lot of blood and his injuries would most likely scar, according to the doctor.

 

After a while, he set his files aside and leaned his elbows on the bed, reaching to take one of Greg’s limp hands into his own. He rubbed the back of his tan hand with a thumb, and sighed softly.  Closing his eyes, he just listened to the beeping of the machines he was hooked up to, hoping for him to wake up soon so they could actually converse. The only conversation they’d had thus far, Greg had been extremely doped up on pain medication and hadn’t made much sense. He also hadn’t quite remembered who Mycroft was, but began to hit on him in a very smooth way that made the politician’s blush reach his ears.

 

The silence was shortly interrupted by soft knock on the door, causing Mycroft to straighten immediately in his seat, though he did not let go of Greg’s hand.  He turned his head just in time to see Abby stick her head in shyly.

 

“Can I come in, My?” she asked. Mycroft smiled affectionately, nodding.

 

“Of course, Abigail.  Your father is asleep, but by all means.  Is Elizabeth with you?” he asked, finally releasing Greg’s hand so he could stand.  She nodded as she entered the room, and sure enough, the older Lestrade daughter came in right behind.

 

“Hi, Mycroft,” she nodded, greeting him gently. “Wanted to come see da.”

 

“He will be most pleased you did. As am I,” Mycroft smiled. Abby wandered over and hopped up into the chair the politician had just been occupying, and Elizabeth glanced toward the door.

 

“Mum is here…” she muttered, a clear warning to him, before reaching out to squeeze his hand and walk over to stand next to her little sister.  Mycroft sighed through his nose, but the action was not noticeable by anyone.  Fantastic.  With everything else, what he needed was to be in the same woman with Gregory’s ex-wife. Christina was a headache and he had, thus far, managed to avoid her directly.  Clearly this would no longer be the case. Oh well.  He was nothing if not a master at fake politeness.

 

He squared his shoulder as he noticed her slip inside, though she made no movement to go towards the bed.  Her entire body language screamed that she had no desire to be here, and if it weren’t for the daughters she shared with Greg, no doubt she wouldn’t be. It was extremely insensitive of her. After all, _she_ was the one who had cheated.

 

“Oh,” was all she said at first upon noticing Mycroft was in the room.  He couldn’t help but arch an eyebrow.

 

“Not who you were expecting?” he said in forced politeness, unable to completely hide the bite in his voice. A glance out of the corner of his eye proved that the girls were not really within ear shot, thankfully.

 

“Just would have preferred to avoid all this,” she muttered, clearly not offering him the same courtesy. “They were just so insistent on coming here.”

 

“Well Gregory _is_ their father,” Mycroft countered, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Whom they love dearly.  It would only be natural for them to desire seeing him in his weakened state. Sate their worry.”

 

 _Of which you clearly have none, you heartless woman_ , he wanted to say, but goodness knows Mycroft Holmes had been taught more manners than that.

 

“You talk about them with such familiarity,” Christina snapped, venom leaking in her voice. “It must please you to know you’ve wormed your way into the Lestrade family so successfully.”

 

Mycroft’s patience was wearing thin. He could be polite all day and every day, but when he was not returned with the same thought, he got fed up. Quickly.

 

“Forgive me, but if _anyone_ had ever wormed their way in, as you so eloquently put it, it would be you,” Mycroft said, his voice starting to adopt some impatience. It didn’t help everything else that had piled on.  He had no time for this ridiculous woman right now.

 

“How… how **dare** you,” Christina scoffed, just barely managing to keep her voice quiet enough so the girls didn’t catch on to what was happening. “I don’t know _how_ you convinced Greg to think you were worth being with, or how he was ever okay with having you around our children.  I don’t understand why he wastes his time with you.”

 

“As opposed to you, who continuously cheated on him, even though he tried endlessly to work things out?” Mycroft snapped, his temper starting to flare. “Don’t you even think about coming in here and accusing me of being the one who isn’t worth being with.  Unlike you, I care for Gregory unconditionally. Unlike you, I respect him as a person, and welcome every part of him that stays out to work on cases, that gets injured and put in the hospital, and that goes out to enjoy a few drinks at the pub with his colleagues.  Unlike you, I know how lucky I am, and I embrace it.  Whether you like it or not, he and I have joined our lives together, which means your children are a part of it as well. I care for them as if they were my own, a courtesy I am hard pressed to believe you would return had our positions ever been reversed.”

 

Christina said nothing, just staring at him in actual disbelief.  Mycroft couldn’t help the joy he felt at the expression.

 

“Now, I suggest you take your leave of this room before I find myself getting very angry.  Elizabeth and Abigail will return to you in the waiting room when they are ready to leave, and not a moment before.  Now.  Out.”

 

Christina opened her mouth to protest, but whatever words were on the tip of her tongue vanished at the icy glare Mycroft provided. With a huff, she turned and stormed out of the room.

 

Mycroft took a deep breath, working on calming himself before turning and heading over to where the other three Lestrades were.

 

“Do you think he’ll wake up soon?” Abby asked softly, gazing up at Mycroft, clueless as to the fight that had just occurred. Elizabeth, on the other hand, seemed to have some idea.  She always did. She was impressively smart, and Mycroft found himself proud of how mature of a young lady she was turning out to be.

 

“I am sure he will, Abigail,” Mycroft commented, softness in his voice once again.  He rested his hands on the edge of the bed, gazing at his slumbering partner with worried, lovingly yes. “And he will be most pleased to know the two of you have come by.”


	140. Emotionally Vulnerable

Greg was a bit pissed, in the drunken sense. Okay, well, maybe the temperament sense as well.  He was slumped on his sofa, his… fourth beer in hand, staring at the ceiling and basically hating the world.  Grown men were still entitled to drunken temper tantrums most common from people in their early 20s, right? Even if they weren’t, fuck it, because that’s exactly what he was letting himself do.

 

He stared at the stack of papers sitting on his coffee table, feeling the overwhelming urge to set them on fire. He’d known this was going to happen, and he’d been prepared for the package for weeks now.  It had been a few months since Christina had moved out for good. Even still, coming home after a long bloody day and opening a packet of divorce papers first thing was not what a bloke really wanted to deal with.

 

So he’d pushed the damn things aside to ignore until at a really random hour, and had headed to the fridge. He’d planned on having one or two anyway as he worked on winding down from a triple homicide and a disappointingly high Sherlock Holmes showing up at his crime scene.  Whom he’d given the boot.  Because insight be damned, there was no way Greg would ever risk his cases with having a damn drug addict examining evidence and giving them leads. No way in hell. He would prefer to continue working, thank you very much.

 

So, as he was drinking beer number 4 and most definitely not crying (yeah, okay, maybe a bit, but he was drunk at this point okay?), there was a knock at the door.  _Great_.  Because he couldn’t just get drunk and go to bed in peace. He contemplated leaving it and pretending that he hadn’t heard anything, when the next series of knocks sounded. With a sigh, he set his almost empty drink down and stood.  His vision swam for a moment and he shut his eyes, working on getting his center of gravity under control, and made his way over to his front door.

 

“What do you wa-“ he started, the words dying in his throat as he saw who stood just across the threshold.  He blinked, gazing at Mycroft Holmes, standing there with his umbrella and holding some files in his hand.  They stared at each other, the taller man’s pale eyes piercing and knowing as always, and Greg braced himself for whatever the man was going to say.

 

“Gregory, I’m sorry,” Mycroft said softly. Greg blinked again. Okay, that hadn’t quite been what he’d expected.  He wanted to ask what Mycroft was sorry for, but he didn’t need to.  No doubt he knew exactly why Greg was drunk.  So instead, he sighed and shook his head.

 

“It’s whatever,” he mumbled, taking a step back and gesturing for the younger man to come in.  Mycroft did with a nod, leaning his umbrella against the wall and walking into the sitting room.  Greg followed, falling back onto the sofa, while Mycroft quietly sat down near him on the other end. “What can I do for you?”

 

“I… came by to bring you the files to give to my brother, as we discussed a few days ago,” Mycroft said, obviously hesitating a bit. Ah.  Greg had forgotten all about them.  He scrubbed his face roughly and sighed.

 

“Sorry, yeah.  I forgot,” he admitted. “It’s been-“

 

“I am aware,” Mycroft interrupted, saving Greg the trouble of explaining.  Thank god. “This is not a good time, let me get out of your hair.”

 

“No!” Greg said as Mycroft moved to stand. They both froze at the desperation that was evident in his voice.  Now that Mycroft was here… Greg found he didn’t want to be alone.

 

Slowly, Mycroft sat again, crossing his legs and turning his body towards Greg.  The two of them had become… friends really wasn’t the right word for it, he supposed. But something like it. They bonded as they both tried to keep Sherlock off heroin, and sadly still failing.  It was exhausting.

 

“Would you like a drink?” Greg asked, gesturing to the one he’d been drinking out of.  Mycroft shook his head in a polite decline.

 

“No, thank you, Gregory.  I admit I cannot stay long.  However, I would not be opposed to remaining a little while longer.”

 

Remain he did.  Greg finished the rest of his beer, and Mycroft initiated different avenues of conversation that tried to steer him away from the divorce or his homicide case.  It was appreciated, but Greg still couldn’t push past that haze he had fallen into.

 

After about twenty minutes or so, they had eased into more comfortable conversation, and he had Mycroft laughing softly. The posh man looked gorgeous when he laughed.  When he _genuinely_ laughed.  It was almost a shame he didn’t more often.  Over the course of their conversation, they had drifted closer to one another, and Greg felt an almost magnetic pull towards the other man.

 

Their closeness became evident to one another as Mycroft turned to say something in return to what had made him laugh, freezing as their noses almost touched.  His breath hitched in his throat and they just stared at each other. Greg had the overwhelming urge to…

 

“Gregory?” Mycroft asked in a hushed tone, not moving when Greg reached up and brushed the back of his fingers along his jaw. He didn’t move away either, however. This was not the first time Greg had thought about kissing Mycroft, and it had obviously not been the first time Mycroft had thought about it either.  In his vulnerability, Greg gave into his urges.

 

Leaning in, he pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Mycroft’s mouth.  The relaxed hold the younger man had on the back of the sofa tightened immediately. He still didn’t pull away, though. Feeling a spur of courage, Greg tilted his head and pressed their lips together in a gentle kiss.

 

The noise of surprise Mycroft made was delicious. Greg’s heart skipped a beat, and he took the other man’s bottom lip in between his teeth and sucked gently. The noise he’d made turned into a soft groan.  A slender hand was gripping his bicep securely, grounding himself.

 

Then, just as quickly, they broke apart.

 

“I should go,” Mycroft said breathlessly. “Early meeting. Take care, Gregory.”

 

Greg was frozen.  He nodded numbly, not moving a fraction of an inch as Mycroft stood, bade a polite but flustered farewell, and left his flat.  It probably took five minutes before Greg let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as he slumped back into the sofa and covered his face.

 

Well, he’d fucked that up.  The alcohol and the divorce papers had ruined his self-control. Never mind the fact that he’d been yearning to kiss Mycroft for months now.  He hadn’t wanted to like that…

 

He passed out on the sofa a few hours later, mobile clutched in his hand, with a half-formed text to Mycroft typed out that he would never send.


	141. A Distraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of Day 140.

Mycroft considered himself a very put-together individual.  One of the first things he had learned in life was self-control.  It was one of the big things that distinguished him from his younger brother, Sherlock.  It was partially why he was the smart one.  While Sherlock’s life had taken a turn of self-destruction just to alleviate the constant boredom he felt, Mycroft became a productive and successful politician.

 

Mycroft did not necessarily get bored. He had learned to compartmentalize his deductions, his thoughts, everything to give his mind some form of peace and organization.  He had tried so hard to condition Sherlock to do the same.  It was clear early on in life that they were the same, and he had tried… He had been unsuccessful, obviously.

 

Mycroft could control his thoughts and emotions better than anyone else he had ever come across.  He could focus on what was necessary and push aside everything else, filing it away where it may or may not prove useful later on in life. So, why was he having such a difficult time with this?

 

Gregory Lestrade had kissed him. Correction: a vulnerable, depressed, and _drunken_ Gregory Lestrade had kissed him.  All the circumstances around his visit three weeks ago and the events that occurred had been horrible timing. It had been glaringly obvious the older man was going through the steps of divorce.  Of course he would be sent papers, and the timing was right. It all lined up and made sense.

 

They had kissed.  Mycroft had kissed plenty of people in his lifetime, naturally. He’d had many physical encounters starting in university and on, and while it had been a while since his last, he was no stranger to it.  It was always a means to an end.  A desire he found his body needing every few years or so.  Some kisses, touches, and intercourse were required to sate urges that tediously popped up from time to time.  Thankfully, however, it was never a frequent thing.

 

This kiss, though… He could not get his mind off it. He could not compartmentalize the action, or the way it had made him feel.  He could not forget the warmth that had spread through his entire body, nor could he ignore the warmth that emerged as he recalled the action. As he monitored CCTV or read through paperwork, he would start to recall the feeling of Gregory’s lips pressed against his, and how his body had shivered at the pressure he had experienced as he sucked on his bottom lip.

 

Absently, he reached up and touched his bottom lip with his fingers.  He sighed, clearing his throat and straightening himself.  He could not deny the Detective Inspector was attractive.  Mycroft enjoyed being in his company.  He was a surprisingly calming force in Mycroft’s otherwise hectic, stressful world.

 

He sighed, dropping his hand and reaching for his mobile.  He had not heard from the older man once since that moment.  Gregory texted him often, which made his silence very peculiar. Partially, he wondered if he had behaved incorrectly after their kiss.  He hadn’t known how to react, for once.  He had been taken by surprise.

 

Or was Gregory embarrassed?  He didn’t need to be.  Mycroft had thought about the circumstances surrounding it all a lot. Honestly, he had probably thought about them too much.  His actions were nothing to be embarrassed of.  They were perfectly natural for someone going through something like that. He found he wanted to text him and tell him that.  But should he even bring it up?

 

Mycroft hadn’t recalled the last time he was at such a loss.  He’d only ever felt this confused and lost over Sherlock’s seemingly endless drug habits.

 

“Sir?” came a voice, and Mycroft blinked.

 

“Yes, Anthea?” he asked as he glanced up. How long had she been there? He hadn’t heard her enter… The look on her face showed that she had most likely called out to him multiple times, as well.

 

“Your meeting has been cancelled this evening. I suggest wrapping up for the day and heading home,” she informed him, glancing at him.  There was a knowing look in her eyes and he couldn’t decide if it was good or bad.

 

“Do you now?” he asked, arching an eyebrow and setting his mobile down.  Anthea nodded, her eyes flicking towards his mobile briefly.

 

“Indeed.  Perhaps grabbing a bite to eat?”

 

Mycroft could hear her suggested undertones. He managed a small smile and nodded.

 

“Yes, of course,” he said, standing and gathering his coat and umbrella. “Thank you, Anthea.”

 

“Have a good evening, sir,” she said, nose buried in her Blackberry instantly.

 

Mycroft rubbed his thumb across the screen of his mobile as he strode out to his car.  He was halfway home when he finally composed and sent the text he’d been thinking about all day.

 

_Would you consider joining me for dinner, around 8pm?  I feel we have some things that should be discussed. –MH_

 

He was walking through his home ten minutes later when he finally received a response.

 

_I agree. See you at 8.  –GL_


	142. This Cannot Happen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand continuation of 141!! It was a trilogy, yaaaaay~

Dinner was a bit tense.  Greg had been expecting that.  He’d been avoiding Mycroft for weeks after he kissed him in a depressed, drunken haze.  It wouldn’t have been as bad if that were all it was, though.  But… it really wasn’t.  It wasn’t because it was all Greg seemed to be able to think about now. He dreamed about it. The touch of their lips in that moment awakened something inside of him he didn’t know existed.

 

They made somewhat casual conversation. They discussed Sherlock, and they discussed their work.  More so, Greg discussed **his** work. Mycroft could rarely return the same courtesy, of course.  It wasn’t until dessert that the topic turned in the direction Greg had been dreading all evening.

 

“Gregory, about the last time you and I were together,” Mycroft prompted, finishing off his glass of wine and signaling for the check.

 

“Yeah, uh,” Greg said, rubbing the back of his head and setting his napkin on the table. “I’m sorry about that, I just-“

 

“It cannot happen again, you understand,” Mycroft interrupted. Greg blinked.  He felt his heart sink in surprising disappointed, but he forced himself to nod.

 

“I know.  I was drunk.  I hadn’t planned to, it just kinda…” Happened?  For once, not in his dreams?  No, Greg couldn’t say that. “I’m sorry.”

 

Mycroft nodded curtly.  He paid for the bill and stood, prompting Greg to do the same. In silence they walked out of the restaurant, where a car was already waiting for them.  Greg couldn’t help but smirk.  There was always a car waiting.

 

The beginning of the ride was also spent in silence, as they made their way across London and towards Greg’s flat. Greg stared out the window as Mycroft was reading something on his mobile.

 

“Thanks for dinner,” Greg finally said, remembering his manners.  He turned a bit, in case they were to initiate conversation, which caused their knees to press together. Greg’s heart jumped in his throat, and Mycroft’s thumb stilled over the mobile screen.

 

“You are quite welcome,” Mycroft said, though there was tension obvious in his voice.  Pale eyes glanced up, and they stared at each other.  Greg licked his bottom lip nervously, having no idea what to make of what was happening.  Which was why, moments later, when Mycroft practically dove across the backseat of the car and grabbed Greg’s face roughly, the older man yelped in surprise.

 

Mycroft was kissing him.  He was the one… He started… Neither of them was even tipsy, they’d barely had enough wine for that.  The kiss was basic, closed lips pressed together, but there was no mistaking the intensity that was still behind it.  Greg blinked as Mycroft leaned back, and they stared at each other, slender hands still framing the older man’s face.

 

“I thought…” Greg started, a bit breathless. “I thought you said it couldn’t happen again.”

 

“It _shouldn’t_ ,” Mycroft murmured, not letting go or moving away.

 

“Shouldn’t?” Greg repeated, raising his eyebrows. That word could hold an entirely different meaning.  The politician nodded. “Then shouldn’t you…let go of my face?”

 

“I…” Mycroft started, at a loss of words for what Greg thought was the first time ever. “I find I do not want to.”

 

The admission made Greg shiver. There was something bigger at play here. Something neither of them had considered, let alone allowed them to indulge in.  It was something that was woken that night, three weeks ago, as Greg stared drunkenly at his divorce papers.  It was something that wouldn’t go away, he had the feeling.

 

“Then perhaps you should kiss me again,” Greg heard himself say, tilting his chin in almost a challenge.  He watched as Mycroft’s pupils dilated, and listened as he huffed out a breath.

 

The next moments flew by faster than Greg was prepared for.  Mycroft was climbing into his lap.  Mycroft was shoving him almost roughly against the backseat of the car.  Mycroft was kissing him again.  This kiss was even more intense than the previous, and Greg pushed his tongue into the other man’s mouth after he’d decided to bite on his bottom lip.  The noise Mycroft made was intoxicating, and Greg was instantly half-hard in his trousers. They kissed desperately, as if their lives depended on it, each one of them fighting for dominance and each one gaining it over the other at some point.

 

They hardly noticed the car stopping in front of Greg’s flat.  The older man was sliding his hands around and grabbing at Mycroft’s arse, causing his breath to hitch as their bodies pressed against each other.  He could feel Mycroft’s desire pressing hot and hard against his thigh, and Christ, Greg wanted.  All too fast, however, he was pulling away, panting harshly.  Greg had to force himself not to whine in disappointment.

 

“We have arrived,” Mycroft managed as he tried to compose himself.  His smooth voice was rough with desire and it was the sexiest thing Greg had ever heard. He sat there dumbly for a second, before nodding and not so discreetly adjusting his erection inside his trousers. He tried not to beam at how Mycroft stared.

 

“Yeah, so, um… thanks again for dinner?” Greg attempted. Mycroft huffed a laugh and nodded.

 

That was Greg’s cue to climb out of the car. He shut the door, but a moment later the window was being rolled down.  Greg raised his eyebrows, still panting a bit.

 

“Three days time, here,” Mycroft was saying. “9pm. I feel… this has just become rather complicated.”

 

“Y-yeah,” Greg nodded.  Not that he was complaining.

 

“I’m not looking for a relationship, Gregory,” he pointed out.  Greg shrugged.

 

“I just signed divorce papers.”

 

“Indeed.  I will… see you in three days.”

 

Greg nodded and waved, and then the window was rolled up and Mycroft was gone.  Three days. He had no idea what was going to come of this, but he felt like it was something.  But what?  Lord only knew…


	143. First Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teen AU

Well, that had happened.  Their first big fight.  The circumstances had all lined up terribly wrong on top of everything, exams were making them both tense and snappish, and things had kinda just… exploded. Greg remembered sitting in Mycroft’s dorm room, and how they’d just… started snapping at each other.

 

Greg had issues with his intelligence. He made okay marks, sure, but not great. Things wouldn’t stick. It was one of the big things when it came to falling for and dating the smartest boy in their entire class that made him feel a bit worse at times.  These A levels were kicking his arse.  And Mycroft just… hurt him.

 

He wasn’t sure if the other teen had said those things intentionally or not.  Calling him childish and saying he refused to apply himself and he was acting like a dimwitted child… It had really hurt.  Add that to the stress pounding down on him, and Greg had snapped back. It had happened five days ago. They’d avoided each other since then.

 

He sat in the library, hidden in a corner currently, book in his lap.  Even in the subjects he was good with he was stressing.  Somehow, these history texts weren’t making any sense.  They should, and they weren’t.  He had his nose buried in it for so long, that he didn’t notice the body in front of him until he cleared his throat.

 

“Yeah, wha-“ he started, glancing up in irritation, before falling short and his eyes widening. “Myc?”

 

“Gregory, may I… join you?” the younger teen asked, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other.  It was adorable, and yet Greg could still feel hurt and anger flare up in him.  He had a shite temper; everyone always told him.  So he huffed.

 

“I dunno, don’t want to infect you with my dimwitted behavior,” he muttered, staring back down at his book. His heart was pounding. Mycroft sighed.

 

“Yes, about that,” he started. “I owe you an apology, Gregory.  I didn’t truly mean what I said last week.”

 

Greg wanted to believe it.  He supposed he did, really.  Mycroft had never lied to him, so why would he start now? He sighed and shut the textbook, setting it aside and crossing his legs.

 

“We were both feeling a lot of stress over A levels,” Mycroft continued, shifting the books tucked under his arm. “It’s only natural that stress would come out in forms unintended by both parties.”

 

Greg knew Mycroft was going to be a brilliant politician one day.  He talked like it so naturally, and he was amazing at negotiating, and commanding people to listen even when they didn’t want to.

 

“I’m sorry too…” Greg sighed, running a hand through his dark hair.  His voice dropped even softer at his next admission. “I’ve missed you…”

 

“And I you,” Mycroft smiled. “So may I sit?”

 

Greg was silent for a moment, pausing and thinking. Slowly, he started to grin a bit, and motioned at his lap.  Mycroft arched an eyebrow, and Greg chuckled.

 

“C’mon, I’m comfy.  You’ve said so yourself,” he grinned wider. Mycroft sighed in exasperation, shaking his head.  He did, however, set his books down and glance around before carefully sitting on one of Greg’s legs. This wasn’t good enough, however, and once the older teen had his arms around Mycroft’s waist, he tugged him closer so that he was almost straddling his lap.

 

“Gregory, we’re in the library,” Mycroft hissed, hands pressed flat against Greg’s chest and his cheeks flaring up bright pink. It was adorable.

 

“Well I guess you better be quiet then, right?” Greg smirked as he grabbed the lapels of Mycroft’s uniform and tugged him in for a heated kiss.

 

Mycroft froze, mind obviously racing and protesting what was happening, but Greg could feel his body ease as he swiped his tongue along his lips.  They kissed rougher, Mycroft kissing back now.  His slender fingers ran through Greg’s hair, his nails scraping against his scalp. It made Greg shiver.

 

“Gregory,” Mycroft huffed against his lips, before whimpering slightly as Greg moved to kiss and nip along his neck. He clutched at Greg’s shoulders, pressing close, heat vibrating between them. “Gregory, we need…”

 

“No one else is here,” Greg growled, clearly in no hurry to relocate.  He’d had dreams about doing less than tasteful things in this library.  Maybe it was weird.  He didn’t care.  Plus, he found he didn’t want to say no to some makeup sex.

 

“ _No,_ ” Mycroft hissed, though he shivered and pressed closer, lips parted slightly. “Gregory, _please_ …”

 

Greg paused.  Well.  That was hard to ignore.  Licking his lips, Greg nodded and gazed up into Mycroft’s quickly darkening eyes.

 

“Mine, then.  Your roommate will be there.”

 

“Wise decision,” Mycroft nodded, his voice trembling.

 

“Now,” Greg all but growled.  They barely gathered up their books before they were walking swiftly through the library.

 

“Gregory, I am sorry,” Mycroft said again as they walked with fingers threaded towards their privacy.

 

“Thank me with less clothes, yeah?” Greg smirked, gazing lovingly at his boyfriend.  They’d had their first big fight.  Now they were going to have their first amazing makeup.


	144. Going On A Picnic

Greg couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he watched his partner trying to get ready.  Mycroft was an immaculate dresser, with a closet full of suits that he could probably get lost in.  Yet here they were, about to head out to a field for a picnic, and he couldn’t find something appropriate to wear.

 

He wasn’t sure how he’d convinced Mycroft to go on an actual, bonified picnic, but he had.  He was looking forward to it.  It was always something he enjoyed, ever since he was a young bloke, and it had been so long since he’d enjoyed something of that nature.

 

“Don’t you have jeans?” he asked, raising his eyebrows and Mycroft stood over at his dresser in his pants and a button-up shirt that was hanging open, currently staring between two sets of dress trousers. Greg wanted to take a picture. It was adorable and sexy all at the same time.  However, the trousers he was wearing weren’t the best suited for this kind of outdoor venture.

 

“Jeans?” Mycroft repeated, almost scoffing. “I doubt that I do, Gregory.”

 

“Come on, you have to own one pair.” Grunting, Greg got out of bed and wandered over to his dresser.  He waved a hand to shoo him aside for a moment and knelt down, opening a drawer and starting to look through the clothes that were in there. Mycroft opened his mouth to protest, but Greg was already there, so he decided not to and worked on folding up the trousers he had been holding.

 

Finally, after about ten minutes or so, buried in the very bottom of the drawer, Greg felt it.  He cried out in triumph, grinning brightly as he tugged out the jeans.

 

“I _knew_ you had a pair!” he grinned, holding them up towards the taller man. “Everyone has at least one pair.”

 

Mycroft stared at the jeans with wide eyes, and arched an eyebrow.

 

“I’m not wearing those.”

 

Groaning, Greg stood and stepped close to Mycroft. He wrapped an arm loosely around his waist.

 

“It’ll be perfect for the picnic, Myc,” he said softly. “Better than worrying about something like grass stains getting on your expensive trousers.  Come on, just this once?”

 

It took a few moments of convincing, but finally Mycroft agreed.  Greg was giddy. He couldn’t really explain why, but in all the years he’d known the younger man, he’d never seen him in something so casual.  It was either dress trousers, pyjamas, or nothing at all.  Of course, nothing at all was most preferable, but… Still.  He was finally gonna see him in jeans.

 

While Mycroft went to get dressed, Greg wandered towards the kitchen to make sure they had everything they would need. He’d done most of the preparation earlier in the day, but it was always good to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. He focused on that, getting together the last of the food he’d prepared, and making sure to put their wine in its’ bag. Then, it was getting the blankets and plastic silverware together (because lord knows they wouldn’t take their nicer and potentially breakable stuff with them).

 

  1.   Good to go. Greg sighed triumphantly and slid everything together at the corner of the counter, and then turned to go find his other half and see if he was ready to go.  They met in the hallway near their bedroom, and Greg just…stared.



 

Mycroft was wearing the jeans, and holy hell did they look amazing.  They were extremely form fitting, showing off just how long and slender the man’s legs really were. Greg felt okay in guessing that his arse probably looked amazing as well.  On top, he’d discarded the button up he’d previously been wearing for a light blue long-sleeved sweater.  Underneath he had on a white collared shirt, just poking out above the neck of the sweater.

 

“Gregory?” he asked, arching an eyebrow and shifting his weight from one foot to the other.  He clearly looked a bit self-conscious.

 

“Myc, can we… Hell, let’s just stay in,” he said roughly, shivering a bit.  Mycroft looked a lot sexier than Greg had been prepared for.  Mycroft blinked, lips parted, before breaking out into a laugh. It was genuine and heartwarming, and Greg started to grin.

 

“You’re a ridiculous man,” he continued to chuckle. Taking a step forward, Mycroft squeezed Greg’s bicep and leaned in for a soft kiss. “I’m glad you approve of my choice of wardrobe.”

 

“God yes I do,” Greg sighed, still grinning.

 

“Come, Gregory.  Show me this picnic experience you insist on telling me about, yes?” Mycroft asked with a warm smile. “Then perhaps we can come back home and see where the night takes us.”

 

Mycroft winked, smirking suggestively. Greg’s grin turned mischievous, and he nodded.  Yes… Today was going to be pretty good.  They turned and Greg followed Mycroft back to the kitchen and then out the door.

 

Oh, and yes.  Mycroft’s arse looked bloody perfect.


	145. Weirdest Case Ever

Greg had definitely had his fair share of weird cases in his time.  He’d experienced a wide array of bizarre things.  Stuff that haunted him, stuff that turned into a good story, and overall rather fascinating things he wouldn’t soon forget.  But this…

 

This took the fucking cake.

 

He could still hear Sherlock’s laughter from deep in his gut, and frankly, it was really irritating.  This wasn’t that funny of a situation.  It was the exact OPPOSITE of a funny situation. Maybe he was panicking. Yeah, he was definitely panicking. He was on his way home currently, hoping Mycroft would know how to fix it.  Or, if he didn’t, that he would know someone who did.

 

“Mycroft?” he called out as he walked inside, still physically jumping at the difference in his voice. _So. Weird_.

 

When Mycroft walked out to join him, the younger man froze and stared.  Greg crossed his arms over his chest defensively.  Though, his chest was no longer… as flat as it should’ve been.

 

“Well, Sherlock had texted me…” he commented, walking close with an eyebrow arched. “I hadn’t quite wanted to believe. This is…interesting.”

 

“Interesting?” Greg repeated. He held his arms out in exasperation. “I have boobs!”

 

“Yes, my dear, I can see that,” Mycroft nodded, staring at the mounds in question.

 

Greg had no reason to believe in things of a supernatural or mystical nature.  Never had. He’d known plenty of people who had, of course, and he always thought them ridiculous.  But as they were investigating the murder scene today, he had walked into a room where he was doused with a strange black powder (which was still on his clothes, and most likely in his hair, of course). Then… he was a girl.

 

“Please fix it,” he (She? Fuck that, Greg was not putting himself into the mentality. Too weird.) whined, dropping his hands in exasperation.  He was freaked out. He didn’t like this at all, and it needed to be taken care of.

 

“I’ll see what I can do.  Go change, perhaps take a quick shower, and I’ll make some calls,” Mycroft instructed, pulling out his mobile and immediately scrolling through his contacts. 

 

Greg huffed, but turned and headed towards their bedroom.  He wasn’t sure he wanted to take a shower.  Even weirder. But at the same time… It didn’t sound like a bad idea.  So once he was in their bedroom, he started tugging off his dirty clothes and tossing them in a corner, making his way through and to the bathroom.

 

He stared at himself in the mirror. Hair was still short, but the lines of his face were softer and almost a bit younger.  His neck and shoulders were more slender, and he had… His now more slender hands reached up, and he gently groped the boobs he was now sporting.  It had been a while since he’d actually felt any.  Beyond that, though, for them to be on his person was just bizarre.  How the actual fuck could something like this happen?

 

He turned a bit, glancing at the more accentuated curves of his waist and arse and hummed in appreciation.  At least he looked pretty damn good.  He pointedly ignored other aspects of his brand new anatomy, specifically something that was now _missing_ , and moved to get in the shower.

 

He stayed in there for a while, trying to wrap his head around what had happened.  Maybe he continued to poke at himself for a bit.  But he could never bring himself to move lower than his stomach. That was just too beyond weird for him to actually accept.  Not thinking about it, he wandered out into the bedroom naked, toweling his hair dry, and stopping short as he noticed Mycroft was in there.

 

Normally, it was no big deal. But now, Mycroft’s pale eyes were as wide as saucers as he stared at Greg’s new anatomy.

 

“I, uh…” Mycroft blinked, his gaze definitely _not_ on Greg’s face. The older man (woman, goddamn it was so weird) blinked, feeling his cheeks flush, and hastened to cover himself with the towel.

 

“Sorry, Myc, habit,” he said quickly, wrapping his towel around his chest and huffing.

 

“It… it is all right,” Mycroft said a bit dismissively, moving to focus back on his mobile. “I have a team at your crime scene, collecting evidence of the substance that caused your… transformation. I have another looking into a few avenues of individuals who, oddly enough, excel in this kind of thing. Hopefully we can get it sorted within the next twenty-four hours.”

 

Greg was quiet as Mycroft explained, nodding a bit. He wandered over to the dresser so he could put something on.

 

“Okay, thanks,” he sighed, still feeling really strange.  He forced past it though and tugged on a pair of sweatpants that had an elastic band, and a t-shirt that was buried underneath a bunch others because it had started getting too small. They fit rather effectively, which he was grateful for.

 

“I need a drink,” Greg muttered as he walked over and stood in front of Mycroft, sighing.  The taller man ran his fingers through his damp hair and smiled.

 

“Come, Gregory.  Allow me to fetch that for you,” he said affectionately, and Greg nodded. He was grateful that Mycroft was attempting to remain as normal as possible in this abnormal situation. It was definitely helping.


	146. Keep Him Away, Gregory

Mycroft felt miserable.  He’d just returned from a trip to Belgium, and while he had been rather eager to get home to his family, he had completely dreaded the fact that he would inevitably get sick.  So here he was, holed up in his and Gregory’s bedroom, feeling nauseous and sneezing up a storm.

 

This was not what he preferred to do. He’d been able to see Gregory, of course, but he’d made it fairly obvious he didn’t want to be around their 1-and-a-half-year-old son, Oliver.  He had missed the boy dearly, and he knew that he had been missed in return, but the last thing he wanted to do was infect their son with whatever plagued them this time around.

 

So he continued to lie there, curled up in a huge duvet, sniffing roughly into his handkerchief.  He closed his eyes and sighed, his body relaxing into the mattress and he tried curbing this god awful cold.  He was two days into it, and it seemed like the worst was over, but he wasn’t feeling at all well enough to risk leaving.

 

The sound of a door opening, and Gregory hushed voice caused Mycroft to blink his eyes open.  They widened and he froze as he saw Oliver in his arms, and immediately he tugged the duvet up and over his head to obscure him completely.

 

“Papa!!” Oliver said brightly, and then made a soft noise of confusion at his disappearance.  Mycroft felt the bed shift as his husband was sitting down next to him, and setting their son in his lap.

 

“He’s that lump, right there,” he was saying softly. “You see that lump?  It’s papa.”

 

“Papa ’ump,” Oliver giggled, and Mycroft felt a tiny hand smack his covered shoulder.

 

“Gregory, I told you I didn’t want to expose Oliver to my illness,” he muttered, voice muffled a bit.

 

“And I told you he’ll be fine. Come on and show yourself, love. Ollie misses his papa.”

 

Mycroft was hesitant, of course, but it seemed that there was no forcing the two of them to leave.  So, with a sigh, he pulled down the duvet and revealed himself again.  No matter what, however, he couldn’t regret the action.  The smile that lit up Oliver’s face made Mycroft start to smile as well. He couldn’t help it. He had certainly inherited the Lestrade smiling genes, and it was the most beautiful thing ever.

 

“Papa!” he repeated, reaching out with his fingers spread.  Mycroft rubbed his hand against the duvet before allowing himself to reach out so the boy could grab his index finger for a moment.

 

“Papa feels bad,” Greg said to Oliver, his lips pressed into his dark brown hair as he spoke.

 

Mycroft nodded, humming in agreement, as Oliver just made a cooing noise of understanding.  He most likely _did_ understand. Their son was insanely intelligent for his age, which the politician had not once been surprised of. He started to smile again, but froze and had to scramble for his handkerchief as he felt sneezes building up. He covered his mouth just in time before the flurry came out.

 

“Choo!!” Oliver giggled, still grinning. “Choo!”

 

“Bless you love,” Greg chuckled softly. He looked down at Oliver again. “Can you say bless you?  That’s what you say when someone sneezes.”

 

Oliver glanced up at his older father, listening to the words being spoken.  He blinked, taking in the words and processing them, before glancing back at Mycroft as he sneezed again.

 

“Choo,” Oliver repeated, chewing on one of his fingers briefly. “Bless.”

 

Mycroft blinked, and broke out into a huge grin.

 

“Why thank you, Oliver.  That is rather sweet of you.” He worked on blowing his nose and expelling what had built up.

 

“Bless!!” Oliver repeated, looking at Greg proudly.

 

“Good job, Ollie,” Greg cooed, kissing the top of his head.  He glanced at Mycroft again, smiling sweetly. “See?  Aren’t you glad I decided to ignore you?”

 

Mycroft chuckled hoarsely as his darling Gregory winked at him.  Oliver continued sitting in his lap, deciding it was now his job to say ‘Bless’ every time the sick man made any kind of noise with his nose or throat (regardless of whether it was actually a sneeze), and Mycroft couldn’t help but nod at the older man’s question.  He _was_ already starting to feel better.


	147. I Had A Great Time

Greg was pleasantly surprised by how his outing with Mycroft was going.  This was the… fifth time they’d gone out together in a casual capacity?  Or was it the sixth?  He couldn’t seem to remember, but that didn’t matter in the long run. Not really.  What mattered was that he seemed interesting enough to warrant multiple outings that had _nothing_ to do with Sherlock or a case or anything government-related.

 

The two of them got on real well. More than well. Greg was feeling a strong connection to the younger man, and a heady attraction that had almost gotten him in trouble more than once.  They weren’t dating, not really.  These, however, could be classified as dates.  It was just that neither man chose to label them as such.

 

Slowly, nights had escalated to soft touches, and after the fourth time and perhaps a bit too much whisky, it had ended in a kiss. Multiple kisses, in fact. Greg’s lips still buzzed when he thought about the heated action between the two of them in the backseat of one of Mycroft’s many vehicles.  So not only did he want Mycroft, but Mycroft wanted him.  It was lovely.

 

After that fourth outing, they had gotten together at each other’s flats.  Greg really didn’t think of them as dates, but there was wine, and laughter, and more kissing. This was a very important thing. Each kiss they had and each touch each of them felt, Greg could feel himself falling faster and harder than the touch before.  He had never experienced something like this before.  It was addictive.

 

Tonight, he had picked the restaurant. He had picked one of the nicest ones that he’d ever been to _before_ his association with Mycroft Holmes, and admittedly, he’d been rather nervous about it.  Mycroft really seemed to be enjoying himself, though, so it didn’t take long for the older man to relax.

 

They talked about a lot of things over dinner, and yet really nothing at all.  It was the best. Occasionally Greg could convince Mycroft to confide something about his work: bits and pieces that weren’t necessarily classified information that could help him piece together an idea of what he was really responsible for.  Greg didn’t think he’d ever try and force it all out, and part of him thought he’d never want to really know.  But it was nice getting to hear Mycroft discuss his profession in any capacity.

 

They had dessert, though it was mainly Greg that allowed himself to be spoiled on the sweet cakes that were brought out. Mycroft had a few small pieces, and some bites of the accompanying ice cream, but then he slid the rest over for the DI to have what we wanted.  This was always the way it worked.  Mycroft seemed to enjoy the sweet things so much, and yet he would hardly ever allow himself to _truly enjoy_ them. There was something behind all that. Perhaps he’d know one day.

 

The drive back to Greg’s flat was silent, but it was comfortable.  He glanced out the window as they drove, and blinked in surprise about halfway through as slender fingers brushed against his own.  He smiled slightly, turning his hand palm up and spreading his fingers a bit, invitingly.  Mycroft smirked playfully, tracing small circles along his palm light enough that it almost tickled, before threading their fingers together gently.  Greg never wanted it to end.

 

It did, however, and soon they were both stepping out of the car and walking up to the door.  They turned to face each other, hand in hand, and Greg smiled brightly.

 

“I-“ _had a really great time_ was what Greg **meant** to say.  What came out, however? “…think I love you.”

 

His brown eyes widened in shock and fear, and he watched Mycroft blink silently as they both took in the fact that he’d just bloody said that.  Ah, bollocks. Greg could feel himself panicking. Christ, they hadn’t said they were getting into a relationship, Sherlock said Mycroft doesn’t _do_ relationships, and he’d just screwed up whatever good thing they had going, oh lord. 

 

He opened his mouth, trying to think of something to say to somehow backpedal away from his confession, when Mycroft’s lips started to slide into a smile.  Whatever he was trying to think of saying died before it ever started, as Mycroft’s slender hand cupped Greg’s cheek, and pale eyes stared fiercely and affectionately down at him.

 

“I think I love you as well, Gregory,” he whispered.

 

Greg couldn’t believe what he’d heard, not at first. But then they were kissing, and hugging tightly, and Greg was inviting Mycroft in for coffee he knew neither of them would drink.  And it was the start of something amazing.


	148. The Big 5-0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a HUGE thank you to everyone who has been reading and reviewing; especially those I hear from daily. I know I don't always respond, but I see each and every one, and they bring me so much joy. It's constant mind boggling to me that these goofy little writings can be so greatly enjoyed by people, so just... Thank you. Seriously. I love you all.

Mycroft had planned out the entire day, and he had to admit, as things were going, he was getting more and more excited. Anthea had cleared his schedule so he could take the day to devote to everything he’d thought of, and some things that he hadn’t.  He was a very detail-oriented man, especially when it was important, and oh this was.

 

Gregory had told him he didn’t want to do anything too fancy for his birthday.  There was obviously a part of him that didn’t want to acknowledge the milestone of turning 50 that he was undergoing.  Mycroft, however, insisted on having a few things lined up.  His birthday was a special day, and it was important, and he wouldn’t let it go by uncelebrated.

 

They started the day in the only way that could perfectly happen: they had a lie in.  Mycroft had rolled over and tugged Gregory close, threading their fingers together and waking him up with gentle touches and kisses.  They remained like that for a while, smiling and just resting together.  That, however, then turned into what the older man proudly named Birthday Sex. Mycroft thought it amusing that he would actually _name_ their intercourse, but this was a special occasion, and supposedly that’s what was done on special occasions.

 

They’d collapsed afterward, kissing for as long as they could stand before a shower was in order.  The shower was longer than normal, and may have also involved a second round of orgasms for them both (while they weren’t young anymore they still had rather impressive stamina), and it was wonderful.

 

“If we do nothing else the rest of the day, this is still officially the best birthday ever,” Greg had commented, panting softly in the wake of his release, grinning almost dreamily.

 

It was, of course, not the end of the day. They did relax around the house for a little while, but they took a walk in the park around lunchtime, and Mycroft had dinner reservations for later that evening.  They went to Greg’s favorite Italian restaurant, and Mycroft wore a pinstripe suit that the older man had dubbed his favorite a while back. It did not go unnoticed, if that bright grin had anything to say about it when he revealed himself.

 

Instead of having dessert at the restaurant, Mycroft took them to a small French bakery near their home.  It still dimmed in comparison to the one owned and ran by Gregory’s father, Pierre, but it had become a place the two of them frequented when they could. Usually they would stop there for coffee and tea, or breakfast on occasion.

 

There had been a full cake ready and waiting for them, candles lit, the moment they walked in.  Greg lit up in a frankly childlike grin that brought immense joy to Mycroft.  He couldn’t help but grin either.  He watched as his partner bounced over to the counter to look at it, very much resembling someone who had just turned twelve, and not fifty.

 

They enjoyed their usual serving of coffee and tea as they each partook in a slice of cake.  Mycroft’s was considerably smaller, but he couldn’t refuse at least one slice.  It was Gregory’s birthday, after all.  They shared many kisses in between, and the two members of staff came out and sang.  It was all rather enjoyable.

 

“Follow me, Gregory,” Mycroft commented once they had gotten back home.  He helped Greg slip out of his coat, being that the older man was holding the remainder of the cake, and he motioned him towards the kitchen.  He took the cake from him and walked to set it down on the counter, and then reached on top of the fridge and pulled down an envelope.

 

“Myc, I told you not to get me anything,” Greg said, but still couldn’t hide the excitement creeping onto his features.

 

“Nonsense, Gregory,” Mycroft waved, shaking his head. “It’s just a little something.”

 

“You’ve been saying that about everything, all day,” Greg smirked, but he reached out and took the card being handed to him.

 

Mycroft shifted his weight, suddenly feeling slightly nervous.  There was no reason to be, of course.  He knew his darling Gregory would very much enjoy the small gift that was tucked away inside the birthday card.  Even still… the anticipation of him opening it was buzzing in his gut.

 

Greg read the card in silence, a soft smile on his features at the simple, yet sweet words.  When he opened it, however, his eyes turned as wide as saucers and his lips parted in the softest gasp.  Mycroft started grinning.

 

“Mycroft…” Greg said in a hushed tone. “You shouldn’t have…”

 

“Of course I should’ve,” Mycroft grinned, shaking his head.

 

“Yeah, but… two season passes to every Arsenal game?? And look how **close** these are.  My god.  I could bloody kiss you right now.”

 

“Then why don’t you?”

 

Greg smirked and practically leaped at Mycroft, wrapping his arms around the taller man’s neck and initiating a passionate kiss. He had been nervous, but it felt pretty solidified inside Mycroft that he’d done a rather good job.


	149. Running Late

Greg was pissed, and he was panicking, and there was traffic, and _nothing_ was going fast enough!  _God fucking **damnit**_. Most likely he forgot quite a few things he would end up needing on the trip, but… Right now, he was just concerned with getting to the airport and getting on the plane. Everything else could be dealt with. None of the other stuff mattered, he’d figure it out.

 

He was going on a two-week vacation with Mycroft, and their departure was today.  More specifically, their departure was in twenty minutes, and he wasn’t even at the airport yet.  He didn’t think he was going to make it.  Mycroft had booked them two private, first class tickets on a plane headed to Venice, where they had booked a high-class hotel and were going to travel across Italy for the course of the trip.  It was all he was able to think about for weeks.  It was their first extended trip together, and it was going to be brilliant.

 

 **If** Greg made the flight, anyway.  Not that it would be the end of the world, but he’d somehow have to find another flight, and lord knows how that would turn out.  He’d gotten thrown into a case this morning that had kept him at the Yard two hours later than he’d planned on being at work that day, and it had screwed up everything. Sally had been apologizing profusely, trying to keep his name off it so he could slip out early, but the Superintendent had definitely had other plans.  Bastard.

 

Finally, a lot slower than it needed to be, the car was pulling up to the airport.  Greg huffed a quick thanks at the driver and dove out of the car. He ran around to the boot and tugged out his suitcase and his carry-on bag, and made a break for it. Why did the airport have to be so large? He checked his mobile for the time, and no messages from Mycroft, and he checked his ticket to make sure he went towards the correct gate.

 

Of course, he still had to go through security and get his luggage on the belt.  That process took longer than anything else, as it always did, and as he was standing in line he could hear his flight’s last call.

 

“Bollocks,” he cursed roughly under his breath, bouncing on the balls of his feet.  What was taking so long?!  He had half a mind to whip out his badge so he could get through, but it wouldn’t have ended up making any difference, because he was able to get through a few moments later.

 

Panting harshly, he broke out into as much of a run as he could get away with without getting yelled at by any officials. He glanced at the signs, turned down corridors, and finally, his gate was in sight.  His gate… had no people in it.  He could feel his heart sink with every step he took that got him closer over.

 

“Well fuck,” he sighed, shoulders slumping as he slowed to a stop.  He frowned, sighing and glancing at his phone again.  He’d missed boarding.  Running a hand through his hair, he turned and started to make his way over to the concierge’s desk. If he acted quickly, maybe he could find another flight that wouldn’t put him too far back. He started texting as he walked, trying to type out and let Mycroft know what was going on.

 

“Gregory, where are you going?” came the younger man’s voice.  Speak of the devil. Blinking, Greg turned and saw Mycroft, over near the shut doors where the tarmac was, a calm and amused look on his face.

 

“Myc?” Greg asked, blinking, but unable to keep the relief off his face.

 

“Wouldn’t you know it, the plane was delayed a bit. Something about double checking the engine,” Mycroft said, his face feigning innocence.  Greg started to smirk, however, because he knew that was a load of shit.

 

“You sneaky bastard,” he grinned in compliment, walking over and tugging him into a sweet kiss.

 

“I assure you, I have no idea what you’re suggesting, my dear,” Mycroft chuckled after the kiss, cupping Greg’s cheek. “Come, Gregory. Let’s get our seats.”

 

A man in a suit walked over as if on cue, getting the doors open for them.  Mycroft grabbed Greg’s hand and threaded their fingers together as they walked, and got onto the plane. 

 

They settled into the most comfortable seats Greg had ever seen on an airplane, connected enough that the older man could sit a bit sideways and curl his legs in with Mycroft’s comfortably. They were both provided some amazing whiskey, and then left very much alone.

 

It was the start of what would be a perfect vacation.


	150. Numbers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble written by Gooberfeesh. Apologies for the delay, some things came up that prevented me from being able to get anything written last night, so she surprised me with this to help. Because she is amazing. So think of it as a special, unplanned guest spot.

In the end, they were just numbers: Lines that bent to form recognizable patterns, which were then given assigned quantities. Mycroft understood the logic behind it, yes, but that didn't stop him from feeling a cold wave of dread settle in the pit of his stomach. Nor did it stop him from immediately stepping off of the scale and leaving the washroom in a series of long, hurried strides. 

After careful dieting  _ and  _ a strict exercise regimen, he had somehow managed to gain weight. He couldn't understand it, couldn't fathom how he had allowed such a thing to happen. Surely it hadn't been his fault; it must have been accredited to something else - something that had escaped his heavily guarded boundaries of control. 

Whatever the case, this would not do. This was  _ unacceptable _ . Letting himself go was most certainly not an option, and he would do whatever it took to return to what he'd weighed prior to weighing himself that afternoon. 

He began his atonement with an unusually long run on the treadmill. He could feel sweat pooling in the hollows of his temples and running down the side of his face, where they dripped off from his jaw. Mycroft couldn't have said how long he ran, but by the time he stopped the machine and stepped back onto the floor, his thighs were quivering and he was forced to grip onto the handrails to avoid losing his foothold. 

That was the first of his effort. 

The second instance came later that evening, when both he and Gregory were sat at the dining room table (the older man having cooked a marvelous dinner). He watched through somewhat anxious eyes as a full plate was set in front of him. It smelled heavenly, of course, for his partner was incalculably skilled in the culinary arts. 

Be that as it may, and given his current mind frame - given the  _ numbers  _ \- he did not see food. No, what he saw was carbohydrates, starches, calories… A plethora of red flags that had him reluctant to partake in the otherwise godly meal. 

"You alright, love?" Gregory's voice inquired, breaking Mycroft from his inner musings. "You're looking at your plate like it's going to hurt you." 

Oh, but if only the older man realized the sheer validity of his words. 

"Unfortunately, I find myself feeling not very hungry," Mycroft evaded with utmost nonchalance. "An utter tragedy, I will admit, for it both looks and smells alluringly appetizing." 

At this, Gregory set down his fork. "Myc, you haven't eaten anything today. You didn't have breakfast when we had our morning tea and coffee together, and when I called you earlier from the Yard you said you hadn't eaten lunch." 

Mycroft suddenly wished that Gregory wasn't so perceptive when it came to his appetite, or lack thereof. It was incredibly inconvenient (especially  _ now  _ of all times). Nevertheless, the composed man kept calm and showed no signs of outward discomfort. Sadly...that wasn't enough to pacify Gregory's concern. 

"Something's up," he noticed, sitting back in his seat and loosely folding his arms across his chest. "You gonna tell me? Or do I have to interrogate you?"

There was an absolute, unyielding finality to Gregory's tone that suggested he wasn't fibbing. He was entirely, one-hundred percent serious. 

Realistically, Mycroft could have lied. He could have gone with the excuse that a recent national crisis had left him rather distracted, thus explaining his avoidance of all things edible.  And yet… Gregory wasn't a colleague, nor was he someone Mycroft particularly enjoyed being untruthful with. 

" _ Myc? _ "

Bugger. 

Sighing, Mycroft abandoned his ruse and broached the topic that would no doubt upset Gregory. "Earlier this afternoon, I felt it necessary to weigh myself. So I did."

"...And you didn't like what you saw," Gregory finished, catching on rather quickly. "So you bloody-well starved yourself." 

At this, Mycroft's topaz eyes hardened into sharp sapphires. He grew defensive. "I did not  _ starve  _ myself, Gregory. I simply chose not to eat. There is a difference." 

"Right, okay. A difference," the DI huffed. "Myc, how many times are you going to do this to yourself? You're supposed to fluctuate in weight. It's normal. So long as it isn't extreme loss or extreme gain, which I know that it isn't, you're fine. And you _  are  _ fine." 

Mycroft watched as Gregory unfolded his arms and reached across the table, taking his hand gently in an affectionate, patient hold. Tendrils of guilt began to sink into his chest, yet he paid them no mind. Instead, he allowed the physical contact and curled his fingers around Gregory's. 

"You seem rather convinced of this," Mycroft pointed out, feeling a ripped part of himself slowly start to stitch itself back together. 

"Because I  _am_ ," Gregory affirmed, smiling. He then retracted his hand and returned to his half-eaten pasta. "Now, you're to finish your food or you're not leaving the table."

Mycroft arched an eyebrow whilst slowly reaching for his fork. "And if I  _ do  _ finish?" he challenged coolly. 

His lover smirked. "Then you're not to leave the bedroom later." 


	151. They Were Lucky

Greg was at work when he got the call. He didn’t remember what he was doing. He remembered the coffee, strangely enough.  It was like when you were in a car wreck.  The strangest things concerned someone when they were in a car wreck. Where was his phone, or oh lord this person or that person was going to kill him.  He remembered the coffee.  He remembered the _smell_ of the coffee, and the color.

 

“Lestrade?” he had answered curtly when the phone had rang.

 

“Mr. Holmes’ plane had engine failure. He’s being rushed to the A&E. I’ll text you the address.”

 

He’d barely had time to respond before Anthea was ending the call as quickly as it had come.  He was frozen.  Engine failure? Surely he had heard wrong. He could feel his phone vibrate in his hand with the aforementioned address, but Greg had gone numb. His ears were ringing and he smelled that goddamn coffee and _oh god_.

 

Sally had walked into his office right as his coffee mug fell to the ground and shattered, spilling hot coffee all over the floor. It had alarmed her, while Greg barely even jumped.  One moment he was staring across the room at her, and the next she was at his side. He was shaking. Or was she?  He didn’t know.

 

After barely managing to get the words out, Sally was ushering him through the Yard and out onto the London streets. They were going to his car. Yes, he needed to get to the hospital. He was pausing. How could he drive? He had no idea what was going on right now.  He looked at Sally with glossy, pleading eyes.

 

“Sal, I need…” he said, voice trembling and sounding completely foreign to himself.  Sally shook her head.

 

“Go ‘roud, get in the passenger,” she said softly, nudging his arm. “I’m driving.  You have the address?”

 

“Y-yeah…” he mumbled, doing as instructed and all but collapsing into the passenger seat.

 

That was how he ended up standing in a large, secluded hospital room, gazing down at where his husband lay unconscious in the bed next to him.  He seemed so frail and just… not himself.  It was scary. His head was wrapped in bandages, and there was bruising under his eyes and along his arms.  There were bandages along his arms too, no double covering a whole manner of cuts.

 

Greg all but collapsed into the chair next to him. He’d talked with the doctor briefly, and then with Anthea.  Apparently, Mycroft had been one of the lucky ones.  Three other passengers had died, two more were in serious comas… While they weren’t quite sure when the politician would be waking up, his unconsciousness was not as serious of a concern.  He did suffer from broken ribs and collarbone, though.  He’d also had to go through two blood transfusions almost immediately after being admitted to the hospital.

 

Now here they were.  His vitals were still at dangerous levels and would require close monitoring for at least 48 hours.  Could still be that long before Mycroft would be conscious enough to know what was going on.  Maybe longer. It was guaranteed two or three weeks of being in hospital before they would ever be able to start discussing release.

 

Once everything sunk in, and he was finally alone in the room with his unconscious husband, Greg started to cry. The numbness faded and everything crashed down on him like a brick wall.  He buried his face in his hands and he cried.  He was lucky, of course.  He knew that. Mycroft was alive, and seemed like he would easily make a full recovery.  That didn’t change the fact that Greg had been, and still was, terrified.

 

After twenty minutes or so, he started to cry himself dry.  His nose and running and stuffed, and he had a pounding headache starting to emerge, and he could hardly breathe.  Slumping back in his chair, he grabbed the box of tissues that had been sitting on a small table, and proceeded to try and clean himself up.  It took a few tissues and a lot of nose blowing, but finally he could sort of breathe again.

 

With an exhausted sigh, he slumped back in the chair again and stretched his legs out.  His red eyes drifted to gaze one again at Mycroft.  Now… all he could do was wait.


	152. Don't Scare Me Like That

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of yesterday's~

Mycroft had woken up the morning after he had been admitted to the hospital.  It had been barely an hour.  John had texted to let Greg know that he and Sherlock were on the way.  His darling husband was weak and not talking much, and clearly in a lot of discomfort, but their eyes connected and despite everything, Mycroft had smiled at him.

 

Greg’s heart had calmed instantly. He tried to talk about random things to get Mycroft’s mind off the pain, and… That’s when it started happening. An escalated discomfort appeared on the younger man’s face.  His pale eyes became unfocused, and he clutched at the duvet draped over him, his body tensing. The heart monitor was next. The beeping escalated quickly, and Greg had no idea what to do.

 

He shot out of his chair as two nurses rushed in, where they’d gotten alerts from the monitors.  They shoved past him, and he watched on with wide eyes, trembling.

 

“Mycroft?” he asked, voice trembling in panic. His scared brown eyes turned to the nurses as he tried not to start hyperventilating. “What’s happening to him??”

 

“Detective Inspector, please, let us work,” one of them said as the other was leaning over his husband, who was trembling in a way Greg had never seen before.  He wanted to cry.

 

“ _What’s going on_?” he whined, tears welling up in his eyes.

 

“Leave the room, Detective Inspector. Please.  We’ll come get you.”

 

Another attendant came in, and Greg felt like he was going to be sick.  This new arrival guided him out of the room and shut the door in his face.  His heart was pounding so loudly it was all he could hear, and he couldn’t get that sight out of his mind.  Mycroft had been awake.  He’d been talking. Why had that happened? It just… came out of nowhere…

 

Numbly, he made his way to the small waiting room across the hall; surprised his legs didn’t give out from under him. He collapsed into a chair, where he had been sitting for no more than five minutes before John was calling out his name.

 

“Greg?  What’s going on?” his mate asked, seeing the pale and haunted look on his face. Sherlock had been right on John’s heels, and his eyes narrowed as he took in the sight of Greg as well.

 

“Mycroft… He…” Greg started, licking his lips and trying to find the words without his stomach churning.  He wasn’t being all that successful.

 

“Ssshh, deep breaths mate, yeah?” John whispered, sitting down beside him and rubbing his back.  Sherlock didn’t move or speak.

 

“What have they done?” Sherlock asked sharply. Greg was almost startled by the intensity of his voice.

 

“Sherlock…” John started in a hushed tone, but Greg shook his head.

 

“They, uh… They…” he started, trying to recall what all he’d been told. “H-he has broken bones… Had, uh… two bloody transfusions…”

 

To Greg’s surprise, Sherlock cursed under his breath, glaring.  The tall man spun, coat billowing out behind him, and he snapped at the doctor who was headed towards Mycroft’s room.

 

“You!” he said roughly.  Greg was silent, staring.  The doctor froze and blinked, opening his mouth to counter in obvious irritation, but Sherlock didn’t give him that chance. “Mycroft Holmes is having a reaction to one of your blood transfusions.”

 

“Um… yes.  And you are?”

 

“His brother.  You’re an idiot.  Take my blood and be quick about it.  You’ll have to flush his system, it handles mine.” The doctor blinked again. “Well? _Hurry_!”

 

Greg’s mouth dropped open, and he almost forgot about how panicked and terrified he was as he watched Sherlock. He was being… What was he doing? He blinked, turning to look at John, who had a proud smile on his face.

 

“And he says he doesn’t love his brother,” John whispered fondly, gazing at Greg and squeezing his bicep. “He’ll be fine, Greg.”

 

Sure enough, an hour and more blood movement later, Mycroft was all right.  Unconscious again, but the moment had passed and his vitals were strong. Greg was allowed back in the room, and both John and Sherlock were right behind him. 

 

Greg collapsed back into his chair, reaching out and gripping Mycroft’s hand as he tried breathing slowly. John pulled the other chair over and sat next to him, and Sherlock… hovered over the hospital bed on the other side.

 

“Mycroft’s body behaves peculiarly to blood transfusions,” Sherlock muttered in explanation. “If those idiot doctors had actually looked at his records as they should have, they would’ve seen that and called me immediately.”

 

Greg blinked, staring across at Sherlock. The younger Holmes was being protective. He recognized the look in those sharp eyes, and the way he stood like a statue over Mycroft’s body, constantly looking at him and his monitors.  It was a wonderful sight.

 

Managing a smile, Greg shifted his gaze over to his sleeping husband.

 

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he whispered, tears in his eyes, as he squeezed the hand he was holding. “You right bastard.”

 

He was too busy looking at Mycroft to see Sherlock smiling a bit.


	153. Finally Home

Mycroft was finally going home. It had been a long two weeks, stuck in the hospital, recovering from the most terrifying plane ride of his life. It was such a relief. He had started to go stir crazy and had demanded multiple times to be released, always being shot down by either Gregory or Anthea.  They had both become a bit infuriating.

 

He wasn’t trying to be mad at his husband. His darling Gregory was only trying to help.  He’d been concerned, and Mycroft could only imagine what his poor dear had gone through when he’d heard. His intentions were good, and loving, but it was driving him a bit around the bend.

 

“Good lord Gregory, I’m just getting out of the bed,” he snapped in annoyance as the older man was reaching out to help him get out of the hospital bed. “My ribs are broken, not my legs.”

 

Greg gave pause, gazing at Mycroft with an odd look in his eyes.  With a soft sigh, he nodded and took a step back.  Mycroft felt something clench in his chest.  He sighed as well, sitting on the edge of the bed.  He glanced down at his lap, which was thankfully clad in trousers. He was sick of those god-awful nightgowns he’d been forced to wear.

 

“Apologies,” he said wearily. He reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep, slow breath. “I understand you are trying to help, Gregory.  You, however, resemble my mother a bit too closely right now.  I do not need you to coddle me.  I am perfectly capable of standing on my own.”

 

“Yeah, you’re right Myc, m’sorry,” Greg muttered, rubbing the back of his head and nodding.  Mycroft glanced at his husband and sighed, grunting a bit as he pushed down on the bed and stood.  He was wobbling a bit, but he steadied himself and nodded.

 

“Come here,” he requested, motioning towards himself with a slender hand.  Greg blinked and glanced at his hand, before walking over.  Smiling gently, Mycroft reached over to cup his cheek and pull him in for a kiss.

 

“What was that for?” Greg asked with a soft laugh. He was smiling and his eyes lit up. It pleased Mycroft. That was a much better look on him.

 

“For being here.  Now please, husband mine, can we go home?”

 

Greg nodded and picked up the duffle bag of supplies Anthea had dropped by last week of his possessions.  They walked slowly, and thankfully Mycroft was able to walk on his own, for the most part.  He wasn’t too stubborn, however, to reach out and grab Greg’s shoulder tightly as they got towards the entrance.  He could feel some more aching and exhaustion settling in a bit, so he used his husband as an anchor.  Greg said nothing of it.

 

Finally, they made it outside, where a black car was faithfully already waiting for them.  He allowed the older man to help get him in the car, and finally when they were both settled in, it took off.

 

Neither man spoke on the ride home. Greg reached over and threaded their fingers together gently, turning his head to press a kiss to his shoulder. Mycroft hummed and smiled. He was just grateful they were finally going home, and he could hardly resist the audible sigh that escaped him when their building came into view.  _Home_.

 

Greg got out first, walking around to the boot of the car to get out the duffle bag, before heading around to the other side for where Mycroft was carefully trying to get out.  He was successful, but he did reach out for Greg’s shoulder once again. The walk to the door was slow, and it was a bit frustrating, but Mycroft managed with a slight frown.

 

“Gregory,” he muttered once they stepped inside. Greg set the duffle bag down and turned to look at him. “Would you…”

 

As if knowing what he was trying to say, Greg nodded and carefully wrapped an arm around Mycroft’s waist. He was a bit irritated at himself, but he was feeling the pain now and admittedly, he did need the help now. He just wanted some tea, medicine, and to get into his own bed.  Together, they made their way through to the kitchen, and…

 

“WELCOME HOME MYCROFT!!” came a chorus. Mycroft gaped. Greg’s two daughters, Elizabeth and Abigail, were standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the sitting room, hands thrown up high and grinning brightly.  Mycroft opened his mouth, said nothing, and closed it again. He blinked and looked at Greg, who was also grinning.

 

“Elizabeth?  Abigail?” he confirmed, blinking, and for once a bit speechless. Greg chuckled. Mycroft blinked again, and that’s when he noticed the banner hanging above the two of them. It said exactly the words that the two girls had said, very clearly homemade, and it had him smiling.

 

“We made it ourselves!” Abby grinned proudly. Mycroft chuckled.

 

“And it is extremely lovely.  Thank you, girls, this is so sweet.”

 

“Da only helped hang it.”

 

Greg shook his head and chuckled.

 

“Yes, that’s the only part I played,” he agreed, letting his daughters take all the credit.  “Now girls, we need to get Mycroft comfortable, okay?”

 

Elizabeth was already heading over to the stove, where she very clearly was beginning to work on tea.  Mycroft loved these girls.  Greg carefully helped him to the living room, where he could stretch out on the sofa, their dear cat Remmington, trotting over and meowing. Carefully, Mycroft reached down to scratch his head.

 

He was alive, and he was home. He could never have been more grateful for his luck as he was in that moment.


	154. Business Trip

When Greg and Mycroft woke that morning, they made love.  It was slow and lazy and passionate.  Neither man rushed it, and they got lost in the sensations, surrendering themselves to them. It was utter bliss. It was the purest definition of ‘making love’ that there was.

 

After an equally lazy recovery period, they took a shower together.  After their shower, they had a mild breakfast of Greg’s coffee and Mycroft’s tea, and some buttered croissants.  This time was quiet and relaxed, enjoying each other’s company without the need to speak, occasionally brushing their feet together underneath the table.

 

After breakfast, they went back into the bedroom with the intention to get dressed.  Instead, they made love again.  This one was more desperate and needy, clutching at each other and marking in all the appropriate places.  Greg bit and Mycroft scratched, and they both moaned loudly, and it was just like they hadn’t already had one orgasm so far that day.

 

They cuddled for longer after that, threading their fingers together and brushing hair aside, kissing each other lazily. Neither man wanted to look at the clock, but they both knew…

 

“I am truly sorry I must go,” Mycroft mumbled for what had to be the millionth time that day, hours later as he was finishing the last of his packing.

 

“Hey, it’s your job,” Greg said from where he was sitting crossed-legged on the bed, against the mound that was their pillows. “I’ve known about these possibilities from the get go. It’s okay.”

 

“Still doesn’t make it any more pleasant,” Mycroft sighed.  It honestly warmed Greg’s heart that his partner was having as difficult of a time of it as he was. Neither of them was happy about it. This would be the longest Mycroft had to go away since they had gotten more seriously involved, and moved in with, one another.

 

“A whole month…” Greg muttered with a sigh. It could be longer. It was scheduled for a month, but it was clear that the politician expected it to be longer.

“Please tell me you’ll be safe.”

 

“I swear to you, Gregory, it will all be meetings and conferences.  All desk work. I’m long done with anything field related.”

 

Greg nodded.  Meetings.  Tons of meetings with other politicians, and extravagant dinners where there would be more meetings, and then conference calls followed by more meetings. It sounded so terribly boring. Greg would be driven insane if he had to deal with that heavy a schedule.  Jesus.

 

“Try not to die of boredom,” he grinned as he climbed off the bed.  Mycroft was buttoning up his waistcoat, and gave Greg an almost insufferable look.

 

“I can promise nothing,” he drawled, but there was a grin lighting up his eyes.  It made Greg smirk brightly.

 

He helped Mycroft carry his luggage through the house and out to the car that was waiting for them.  Anthea was seated inside, tapping away on her Blackberry as she always was.  She glanced up for the briefest of moment and gave Greg a nod in greeting.

 

“I’m seeing you off at the airport,” he announced to the younger man as they stood next to the car.  Mycroft gave him a brief look of surprise, but nodded and squeezed his bicep gently.

 

“That would be lovely, Gregory,” he whispered, kissing Greg’s forehead before they both climbed into the car.

 

The ride was mostly silent.  Greg reached over and threaded their fingers together securely. At one point, Anthea leaned over and relayed some information regarding Mycroft’s schedule to him: what to expect upon their arrival and things of that nature.  None of that was really too secretive, but Greg didn’t pay too much attention anyway.  Best to give them their privacy in that regard.

 

Anthea took care of the luggage when they got to the airport, leaving Mycroft with his carry on and Greg. Together, they made their way to the terminal.  They had barely had enough time to relax together before they were calling for boarding.

 

“Do take care of yourself,” Mycroft said, concern not hidden from his tone as he gaze down at Greg.

 

“I will.  You too.  I’m telling Anthea to look after you,” Greg responded, trying to ignore the lump in his throat. He swore to himself he wouldn’t cry.

 

“Don’t dive into work so far you won’t sleep,” Mycroft said, running his slender fingers through silvery hair. “I know you’ll want to.”

 

“Promise you’ll call me,” Greg said, trying not to plead.

 

“As often as I am able,” came Mycroft’s reply. They both knew it wouldn’t be much.

 

“Maybe we can video chat?”

 

“I would like that very much.”

 

“I already miss you.”

 

“And I you, Gregory.”

 

“Don’t go, Myc.”

 

“I must, my love.”

 

They kissed deeply, and Greg knew he was gripping a bit too desperately.  He could feel the heat prickling at his eyes.  _No_ , he would not cry. He couldn’t.  Mycroft kissed him back passionately, more than they ever had in public, and neither of them cared.

 

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Mycroft whispered against Greg’s lips.  He laughed painfully.

 

“Doubtful.”

 

“I will call you when I land.”

 

“You bloody well better.”

 

“I love you, Gregory.”

 

“I love you too, Mycroft.”

 

They kissed again, until finally Mycroft had to make the decision to step back.  Their hands were the last to disconnect, Greg squeezing the taller man’s fingers a bit too hard as they slid from his grasp.  He let out a shaky sigh as he watched Mycroft turn and step through the terminal, and out of sight.

 

He couldn’t bear the silence on the ride home. He couldn’t bear the silence in the house.  He pulled out his old Clash albums and blared them well into the night, until he was able to hear Mycroft’s voice.  They talked for an hour, before the politician was forced to disconnect to attend his first meeting.

 

Greg slept on Mycroft’s side of the bed that night, face buried in his pillow and letting himself be surrounded by his scent.


	155. Unusually Unkempt

The beauty of going on vacation was always when you decided to stay on vacation for longer.  For Greg and Mycroft, when their work schedules _allowed_ them to stay longer.  Greg knew Mycroft had been ready and willing to end their vacation when they’d originally planned, but Greg had really **really** wanted to extend it.  So they did.

 

Of course, this posed a problem for some of the supplies they’d packed.  Anthea was currently working on getting them set up with more sets of clothing and food perishables to help get them through the extended time they had set up, but the younger of the two men still ran into a clothing issue.  Greg, not so much.

 

“Why don’t you just wear some of mine, love?” he asked, stretched out on the bed as he gazed at Mycroft on the other side of the bedroom.  The younger man was staring at the clothing he had brought, almost all of it dirty and not fit to be re-worn (though Greg would have anyway, but it was one of the many ways the two of them differed).

 

“Your clothes?” Mycroft blinked, eyebrows rising a bit curiously.  Greg couldn’t help but take a moment to admire his partner’s appearance.  Neither of them had kept up with their shaving as constantly as they did while they were at home, so they were both getting a bit of scruff. Mycroft’s was surprisingly bright ginger, quite the contrast to his darker hair, and it made Greg realize he’d never actually seen him with facial hair before.

 

“Yup,” Greg nodded, pushing off the bed and wandering over to him. “I’ve got more options that are completely clean. It’ll help hold you over until the morning, when Anthea comes with more stuff.”

 

He reached up and brushed along Mycroft’s slightly prickly chin with a smile.  It was lovely. Humming, he pressed himself up on his toes and pressed their cheeks together.  Wrapping an arm around Mycroft’s torso for support, he nuzzled the taller man the best he could, feeling the way their slight beards scraped against each other.

 

“What are you doing?” Mycroft asked with a soft laugh.

 

“Enjoying the fact that you haven’t shaven,” Greg mumbled in response.

 

“Ah,” Mycroft hummed. “Yes… I was planning on shaving today.”

 

Greg pulled back with a pout and a slight noise of complaint.  He stared up at Mycroft with his big brown eyes, the ones he knew he couldn’t resist.

 

“Don’t, please,” he said, sighing softly through his nose. “We’re on vacation, we don’t need to shave for anyone. Enjoy being unshaven a bit longer? Let me enjoy it?”

 

He smiled very softly, and he could see the shift in Mycroft’s shoulders.

 

“Very well,” he agreed, and Greg could clap in glee. He wished they would have the chance for Mycroft to really grow out a beard, because he had a feeling it would look vibrant and gorgeous.  But… oh well. He’d take what he could get.

 

“Here,” he said, stepping away and pulling out a pair of dark gray sweats and a plain white t-shirt.  He handed them over. “Wear these for today. S’not like we were planning on going out anyway, yeah?”

 

Mycroft blinked and glanced at the clothing now in his hands, before nodding and turning to head into their attached washroom. Greg grinned in victory. He enjoyed getting his darling politician to be unkempt and relaxed.  Sure, he _loved_ Mycroft’s suits and perfect lines and all that, but that made him enjoy stuff like this even more. He loved it because he was the only man who got to see Mycroft Holmes like this.  Just him. 

 

Lost in his thoughts, it took Greg a moment to realize that Mycroft had returned from changing.  A soft clearing of the younger man’s throat brought him back, and he blinked and glanced over.  He couldn’t keep the grin off his face for a second.  Mycroft looked adorably self-conscious about it.

 

“Don’t get that look,” Greg laughed, walking over. The sweats were slightly long on him, so they fit Mycroft about perfectly (though his ankles did peek out a bit more than they should, really).  The t-shirt fit perfectly. “You look adorable.”

 

“Hardly,” Mycroft denied, shaking his head. “But thank you for allowing me the use of these, regardless.”

 

“Oh please, seriously.  You **do**. I love seeing you in my clothes,” Greg grinned, pulling Mycroft in for a tight hug. “Makes me want to take them right back off you.”

 

He pressed up on his toes again to initiate a passionate kiss with the taller man, wrapping his arms around Mycroft’s neck. Mycroft hummed as he returned the kiss just as roughly.

 

“Perhaps it’s alright, then,” he whispered against Greg’s lips, smirking, before kissing him again.


	156. So Insecure...

Mycroft was… exhausted.  Exhausted and stressed and annoyed over so much. He had not been so frustrated with work in a while, and had gotten very little sleep, and it was all extremely unsatisfying.  Not that he slept on a regular scheduled like most people, because he most definitely did not, but that didn’t help everything else.

 

He only ever felt relaxed when he was at home. Being around Gregory made everything worth it.  He could push aside some of the thoughts constantly swirling through his head when he was in the presence of his husband, who was caring but not smothering or overbearing, as he always managed to be.  How the older man could find that fine line between the two was a mystery. As always, Mycroft was actually surprised by him.  All these years later, and it was still a refreshing feeling.

 

Gregory had made dinner and it was waiting by the time Mycroft got home.  He was so grateful for it.  Smiling, he leaned in to press a brief kiss to his husband’s cheek, squeezing his bicep, before going to change while food was put onto plates.

 

“Still dealing with all that insanity?” Greg asked as they were finishing up their meal a little while later. Mycroft nodded with a sigh.

 

“Unfortunately,” he muttered. “It seems little will actually bring about resolution in this current stage.  It’s rather tedious.”

 

“I bet,” Greg said, brow furrowing in concern. “You need a break.”

 

“Alas, I am unlikely to get one. But let’s not discuss it now. I’d much rather enjoy being in your company instead,” Mycroft brushed, waving a hand lazily. Greg nodded and worked on finishing his meal.

 

They went to bed together soon after, Greg pulling Mycroft close and pressing slow kisses along the back of his neck. Mycroft sighed softly and let his eyes flutter closed, enjoying the sensations.  When he felt his husband start to brush his fingers along his side a bit more deliberately, however, his body tensed on its own before he had any control over it.

 

“Apologies, my love,” he said, turning in the grip just slightly. “Not tonight.”

 

Greg’s movements stilled, and after a moment, there was a nod and a single kiss pressed to the back of his neck.

 

“Alright.  Goodnight, Myc,” he whispered, and they both fell asleep soon after.

 

It went on like this for the next week. Work didn’t get any easier, and while it wasn’t nightly, each time his dear Gregory made any vocal or physical suggestion of intimacy, Mycroft felt and heard himself deny it. The suggestions became less frequent, noticeably so, and come the following Friday Mycroft found it was all he could think about.

 

He’d never felt panicked in the way he currently did. When he and Gregory had started becoming intimate, it opened up an entirely new world to Mycroft. One that he adored, and that was intense and special and _theirs_. He ran a hand through his hair and covered his face, sighing.  He only ever felt like this over his weight.  Now here he was…

 

He began to fear that he would lose Gregory’s interest. They were married, of course, and while it was clear between them that it wasn’t all about sex… They hadn’t brought one another to orgasm in at least two weeks straight. How long would it be until Gregory was tired of getting turned down, as Mycroft seemed to be doing?

 

He couldn’t focus.  Things had started to ease up a bit at work, but he couldn’t make himself even think about it right now.  How was it that he, Mycroft Holmes, could sit there and fear about the state of his love life?

 

“Sir, go home,” Anthea suggested, obviously aware something was wrong even if she didn’t know what. “Let me clear your schedule. Go get some sleep, because I know you haven’t been.”

 

The woman might not have been looking up from her Blackberry, but Mycroft knew that tone when he heard it. With an exhausted sigh he stood, nodding, and did as was requested.  Even if he was a bit nervous about getting home.

 

He was greeted with the same bright smile and hug as always, though at this point, it did little to ease his mind. He barely managed a smile as he set his umbrella down, and naturally Gregory picked up on it immediately. Honestly, when had he become so easy to read?

 

“What’s wrong?” he asked instantly, brown eyes full of worry.  Mycroft tried to keep his breathing steady.  He was suddenly terrified, and overcome with the urge to cry.  It was ridiculous.

 

“Nothing,” he said tightly, doing everything in his power to keep his voice even. “I’m going to go change.”

 

He turned and headed to the bedroom. Gregory followed. The older man never let him off the hook that easily.  Mycroft pointedly didn’t look at him as he started to slide off pieces of his suit.

 

“ _Mycroft_ ,” Greg finally huffed, grabbing his bicep gently as he was half-undressed as forcing him to turn and face him.  Mycroft blinked rapidly, mouth pressed in a thin frown. “Talk to me. Now.  Sit.”

 

He tugged Mycroft over and made him sit down on the bed.  Then, he sat next to him and waited expectantly.  Mycroft sighed.

 

“It’s nothing,” he tried saying, his voice coming out in more of a whining tone than he’d planned on.

 

“Obviously that’s a lie.  I’m not stupid, love, please talk to me.  _Please_.”

 

Mycroft couldn’t ignore it anymore. He buried his face in his hands and huffed out a distraught breath.

 

“Please don’t leave, Gregory,” he felt himself starting to beg.  _Oh honestly._

 

“L-leave?” Greg repeated, blinking in shock. “Why on Earth would you think I’d do a thing like that?”

 

“You’re not less desirable to me, Gregory. I just…”

 

He faded off, and there was silence between them. Mycroft couldn’t bear to make himself look at his husband.  Finally, there was a sigh.

 

“Wait,” Greg eventually said. “Are you… Is this because we haven’t had sex in a few weeks?”

 

Mycroft had married a smart man. Gregory was brilliant, even if his dear younger brother always said otherwise.

 

“It’s… not you…” he started to say, trying to think of a way to explain.  But he couldn’t. Logically, he could think of reasons why he would have no sex drive, but…

 

“Look at me,” Greg said seriously. Finally, Mycroft forced himself to, pale eyes glistening with moisture.  Greg’s stare was intense, and yet… affectionate. “Hey.  It’s okay.  Do you hear me? It’s okay.  Come here.”

 

Greg moved to the head of the bed and stretched out, grabbing Mycroft’s arm and tugging him close.  They ended up curled into one another, Mycroft’s head on Greg’s chest.  Greg threaded their fingers together, running the fingers of his other hand through Mycroft’s hair as he started to speak.

 

“This is fine.  It’s all fine.  Do you hear me? I don’t care.  I don’t care that we haven’t had sex in a while. I know I’ve been suggesting it, and of course it’s because I want you what feels like all the bloody time. But it’s also because I know you’ve been stressed and in your own head a lot, and I just want to help. But it’s all okay. I love you, Mycroft Holmes. I married you for so many reasons, and only one of them is to make you moan and scream in a way no one can.”

 

There was a pause, and Mycroft couldn’t help the involuntary shiver that coursed through him.  His husband had such a dirty mouth.  He quirked the tiniest of smiles as he attempted to relax.

 

“So we’ll just lie here.  Anything you need.  I’m here for you, I want to help you.  I love you Mycroft.  No matter what. You hear me?”

 

There was silence, but then Mycroft nodded.

 

“Yes, Gregory.  I hear you.”

 

“Good.  Now look at me so I can kiss you.”

 

Mycroft smiled more at that, and pushed himself up on an elbow, leaning in to kiss Greg gently.  Greg brushed their noses together as they pulled away, and tugged him back down, curling their legs together.  They remained like that the rest of the night, and it made Mycroft wonder what he’d ever been scared of.


	157. June Guest Writer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written by Tumblr user copgirl1964!

Greg and Sherlock were running as fast as they could through the dark and empty warehouse. An hour before Sherlock had received information they could find the suspect of the latest murder in the bowels of this very building. All they had found was a dead man - plus a ridiculously large amount of explosives equipped with a timer. The timer had shown them they had left 58 seconds to leave the building.  So they ran.

 

Long legs carried Sherlock towards the next exit with amazing speed and Greg followed as fast as he could. The DI, being a bit older and not equipped with legs like an antelope, lost sight of the consulting detective. Therefore, at a junction, he turned left where Sherlock had turned right.

 

Dashing through the door and onto the strip of grass outside, Sherlock just managed to think that the 58 seconds should be about up, when an explosion lifted him off the ground and sent him flying into the next tree.  

 

* * *

 

It was late and already getting dark when Anthea entered the meeting room. Mycroft Holmes looked up curiously because Anthea never entered a meeting without a very good reason.    She walked over and whispered in his ear.

 

"There's been an accident. DI Lestrade." Mycroft was out of his seat right away.

 

"If you would excuse me…" He really didn't give a damn if the two ambassadors he had been meeting with excused him or not. There was no way he would stay. Anthea handed him his coat and they hurried to the waiting limousine.  

 

Half an hour or approximately 3600 beats of Mycroft's heart later, the limousine pulled up in front of an accident site that looked like the whole of London's fire department had a get together around an enormous pile of rubble. A smoking and steaming pile of rubble that supposedly had been a building once and was now bombarded with water from all sides.

 

Mycroft rushed to an ambulance where he had spotted John Watson. The man gave him a glance full of anxiety.

 

 "Sherlock is treated for a broken wrist and a few bruises." Not really wanting to break the news but knowing he had to, he added, "Greg is still missing."

 

 Missing in this heap of crumbled concrete and burned wood? His Gregory? If it was possible Mycroft paled even more and his heartbeat stepped up another notch.  

 

"Wow wow wow, you're not passing out on me," John said, stepping closer and grabbing his arm. Mycroft knew he would not pass out but was still glad when John forced him to sit on the steps of the ambulance in which Sherlock was treated.    A bottle with water was shoved into Mycroft's hand and a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. 

 

"I'm sure he is all right," John told him. "Okay?"

 

 Mycroft nodded, watching with wide eyes when yet another fire engine pulled up, a group of fire fighters jumped out and got to work.

 

Over in the rubble,   Greg crawled out from a ditch he had been thrown in from the explosion. His head was hurting, he was drenched from the icy water provided by the fire fighters and covered head to toe in soot. Nobody paid attention to him, when he came stumbling out of the undergrowth. Except for a large lump at his temple Greg was more or less okay, so he kept staggering along. He was shivering from the cold from the water and lying on the cold ground for some time. Perhaps if he kept going around the site, he thought, he would find an ambulance and they would have a blanket for him.   

 

Mycroft had no idea what had made him look up but he spotted the man who was approaching from the dark right away. He stood up and hurried towards the drenched figure. With no regard for his expensive suit he pulled Gregory into his arms. He wrapped him in his blanket and buried his face in the wet and dirty hair, not caring that the soot was immediately transferred to his own face and clothes. And Gregory was all too happy to hug back, and ruin Mycroft's suit for good.


	158. A Reluctant Fan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies that there was no update yesterday!! I hadn't had a chance to write it earlier in the day, and I got preeeeetty drunk last night, which took away all hope of writing something coherent, haha. So!! Today, to make up for it, there will be two updates! Here is the first~

“Why exactly did you bring me here?” Mycroft asked skeptically, raising his voice so he could be heard over the crowd that was surrounding them.  He was not particularly fond of being around so many people, even if they had decent seats, and he felt himself inching closer to Greg subconsciously.

 

“Because it’s fun!” Greg replied with a bubbling laugh, clad in full Arsenal gear, complete with scarf wrapped nicely around his neck. “Besides, you got me these tickets for my birthday, and I wanted to share the experience with you in return!”

 

Mycroft could see where that was the case. He didn’t quite understand the logic from Greg’s point of view.  Personally, he cared little for football, and his only exposure to it was because of the older man next to him.  Greg had a passion for the sport that Mycroft couldn’t help but love, even if he hated sports as a whole. 

 

Perhaps that was why he agreed to this in the first place.  He was, in a way, regretting that though.  It was very loud, and the game hadn’t even started yet.  He was aware of the rules of football, naturally, so he knew a bit of what he’d be witnessing.  What he didn’t understand, however, was the mentality around the game.  The passion. 

 

Mycroft sighed through his long nose and squared his shoulders as he settled in the best he could.  There was no turning back now, so he might as well make the best of it.  He would suffer through it for Greg, if nothing else.  Because he loved that man.  If this wasn’t the biggest proof of love he’d ever shown, then he didn’t know what was.

 

Some people were coming out on the field, players and referees it looked like.  People started clapping and cheering.  Everyone around them, Greg included, started to stand.  Blinking, Mycroft followed suit, peering around to figure out what they were all standing for.  He knew it was customary for sports events to have a national anthem performance before the game kicked off, so unless they’d already missed that, perhaps that’s why everyone was standing?

 

Standing, Mycroft waited for the song to begin. It didn’t.  People were cheering, and starting to sing and chant now, and bodies moved around in jumps, sways, as people sat and stood and sat again. He blinked as Greg sat back down, and then a few other people around them did as well.  He remained standing.  Shouldn’t he be?

 

“Myc, love, what are you doing?” Greg asked after a second with a gentle laugh.  His brown eyes were shining affectionately as he gazed up at him.  It made Mycroft’s heart skip a beat.  He loved that look, and it was only reserved for him. It was amazing.

 

“Waiting for the anthem, correct?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.  There was a beat of silence before Greg chuckled again and shook his head.

 

“No.  C’mon, sit back down with me,” he gestured, reaching out and brushing his shorter fingers along the back of Mycroft’s hand.  The younger man was still a little confused, but he nodded and did so, sinking back into his seat carefully.

 

“Why did everyone stand, then?” he couldn’t help but ask, gazing at Greg for answers.  It wasn’t often he was so confused about the things going on around him. Even if he didn’t practice these kinds of things himself, he was a lot better when it came to reading people than his younger brother obviously was.  Yet… this eluded him.  Sports were a bizarre ritual.

 

“Just excitement!” Greg grinned, threading their fingers together and squeezing tightly. “The teams are out and it’s about kickoff. The songs and stuff are kind of a fan requirement, something we always end up doing before and during the game. Team spirit, if you will.”

 

 _Ah_. Yes, Mycroft supposed that made sense. He felt a little embarrassed at getting caught off guard like that, especially in such an obvious, physical way. He wasn’t sure if anyone had actually noticed, but it made his cheeks heat up a bit regardless.

 

“Don’t worry, babe, I’ll make a fan out of you yet,” Greg grinned, bringing their joined hands up to kiss Mycroft’s knuckles. Cheers erupted around them. The game had started.

 

“I suppose we shall see, Gregory,” Mycroft mumbled, eyes shifting to watch as the match went underway.  He highly doubted his partner’s statement, but best to solider through it anyway.  For love.


	159. Potty Training

Potty training.  It was something Greg had done twice before, with his two girls, and now here he was doing it a third with his son.  He had methods in mind to start helping make that step forward, but potty training a boy was very different from potty training a girl.

 

Watching Mycroft dealing with it was an entirely different experience.  As with most things, he approached it logically and very matter-of-factly, and was overall slightly timid about it.  It was only something Greg could notice, though, because the younger man didn’t make it so obvious that their son would see.  This was a damn good thing.  If Oliver picked up on any hesitance from them, it would make the entire thing even more difficult.

 

“Come on, Oliver,” Mycroft was saying softly as they all stood around the entrance of the washroom.  Greg had gotten him a small, colorful, beginners potty, of course, which Oliver stood in front of and stared at warily.  He would never forget the look Mycroft had given him when he’d brought the contraption home.  It had been just adorable.

 

“No,” Oliver huffed, swaying back and fourth slightly. It was their child’s favorite word as of late.  He wasn’t at all interested in learning how to use the potty like his fathers, still clearly content to go in his nappies, but he was about a year-and-a-half old now, and it was time to give it a go.

 

“Oliver, darling, it is something we all had to learn,” Mycroft continued, crouching down beside him and resting his heels against the edge of the tub.  Greg remained quiet as he watched, a small smile on his face, listening to his husband talk to their child like he was negotiating.  Really, though, he kind of was.  Negotiations were important with children. “Daddy and I do it all the time.”

 

“No,” Oliver repeated, shaking his head. Greg watched his movements, and it was clear he actually _did_ have to use the bathroom.  He hoped they could time this right.  Mycroft turned his gaze towards him, looking a bit lost, and Greg gave him a sympathetic smile. Time to step in.

 

“Hey, Ollie,” he said, stepping forward and getting into the small plastic bucket of bath toys sitting on the sink. Oliver blinked, and turned his head to watch him, brown eyes wide and observing. “Going in the potty is fun! Here, let me show you.”

 

Mycroft arched an eyebrow at the word _fun_.  He remained quiet, however, his attention on Greg as well.  The older man rummaged around until he found a package of miniature rubber ducks.  There we go. With a grin, he opened the package and pulled out a bright blue one.

 

“See this ducky?” he asked as he knelt next to Oliver. He got a nod in return, and he reached out with a small hand, fingers spread open wide, clearly wanting the duck for himself.

 

Shaking his head, Greg turned and set the duck inside the plastic potty.  It rocked back in fourth in the small amount of clean water they had put in it. Mycroft’s eyes widened at the sight, a bit confused because clearly that’s not what toy ducks were used for. Oliver watched as well, turning back to the potty again.

 

“That ducky is gonna help you, okay?” Greg said, rubbing the back of his son’s head gently. “Aim for the ducky.”

 

“Gregory?” Mycroft asked, his voice barely above a whisper.  Greg shifted his gaze towards him long enough to get across an expression that said ‘Trust me’, before he turned his attention back to their child.

 

“Papa?  ‘uck?” Oliver asked, pointing at where it was floating.

 

“Yup, the duck,” Greg confirmed with a bright grin. “If you go in the potty, with the duck, you’ll get a treat!”

 

Oliver stared up at Greg with a bright grin. Oh yeah, it was amazing how quickly children could understand the words treat and snack.

 

“Yeah?” he asked excitedly, giggling. Greg couldn’t help but giggle as well.

 

“Yeah!  But you have to go in the potty, okay?  That’s why the duck is there.  If you do, the duck’ll tell me you did a great job, and then I can get you a treat. But you’ve gotta do a great job, okay?” Greg was saying.  Mycroft was silent, lips parted just slightly.

 

“Kay!” Oliver shouted excitedly, clearly ready to give it a go.

 

That night, Oliver Lucas Lestrade-Holmes used the bathroom in a real potty for the first time.  His two fathers were terribly proud of him, and it was the start to many fun games that caused him to keep the trend going, until nappies were phased out completely.  Mycroft had been amazed by it, because he never would have thought of something like that. Greg just grinned proudly.


	160. Late Night Working

Greg was startled at the soft knock at the door, and his head jerked up from the mountain of paperwork sitting in front of him on his desk.  His eyes were wide and his heart was beating a bit faster, not expecting any sort of noise, let alone a simple announcement that he was no longer alone.  His shocked expression turned into a pleased one, a smile slipping onto his face, and he leaned back in his chair.

 

“Mycroft,” he greeted brightly behind a small yawn. He took a moment to glance at the clock on his wall to confirm that it was, in fact, after midnight, and he stretched with a grunt. “What can I ask has brought you over this way?”

 

“I was in the neighborhood and noticed your office light was still on,” the posh younger man began, stepping just inside the doorway. Greg raised his eyebrows, not really believing that for a second.  New Scotland Yard was never just in Mycroft’s neighborhood. It wasn’t terribly close to his office or his home, so that was a big ol’ lie.  Not that Greg would complain.

 

“Were you now?” he asked in amusement, smirking slightly.  Mycroft’s eyes flashed in acknowledgement that he’d been caught in his fib, but said nothing of it. Instead, he held up a Styrofoam cup and a brown paper bag.

 

“I thought you might like some coffee? And some fresh pastries from the bakery down the road,” Mycroft explained, hesitating for a moment before walking across the office so he could set the items down on Greg’s desk.

 

“It’s after midnight,” Greg said a bit dumbly, blinking at the bag.

 

“Indeed it is,” Mycroft chuckled. “If your observational skills have gotten so common perhaps a break is in order.”

 

“Ha ha,” Greg said sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he reached for the coffee.  He took a sip and hummed; it was bloody perfect.  Mycroft just _knew_ how he liked to take his coffee. “I’m just saying, it’s after midnight and you were able to get fresh pastries?  I thought that was rather impossible.”

 

“There are many things I am good at,” Mycroft said, which was no way an explanation at all.  There was a pause, as he glanced down at where his hands were clasped in front of him, pressing his lips in a thin line. “I also thought you might like the company.”

 

Mycroft was correct, of course. Greg would _love_ the company.  He still had so much to do, though… He glanced at the stacks of paper, and the case folders next to them, and at the clock.  He’d figured he’d be pulling an all-nighter here, which he’d been fine with.  It helped to occupy him. There were times when adjusting to his life as a divorced man were still difficult.  They were better now, however, with Mycroft. He didn’t really quite know what to call the relationship they had developed, but the spark had been there for a while. Once he had become single, it was something he slowly began to pursue.  They’d gone on a few dates, and at this point, Greg had stayed over at Mycroft’s twice.  He was over his ex-wife, though at times he knew he had been before they’d even signed the divorce papers, but that didn’t mean he still didn’t have rough nights. It was strange for it to affect him and NOT affect him so much at the same time.

 

“You’re definitely not wrong,” he said finally, with a soft sigh. “I have so much to do though.”

 

“I won’t get in the way,” Mycroft said as he glanced at the chair nearby. “Though I wasn’t kidding when I said you deserved to take a break.  Set it aside and eat. Ten minutes.”

 

Greg nodded, doing just that. He motioned for Mycroft to take a seat on the small sofa he had in the corner of his office.  He stood and stretched, his knees and back popping slightly, and snatched up the food that was brought to him before joining the man over. Their thighs pressed together as he ate, and they were relatively quiet during it all, just enjoying each other’s company.

 

When Greg was done eating, he turned to kiss Mycroft gently.  Wrapping their arms around one another, they kissed for what felt like an eternity, until Greg had basically ended up on Mycroft’s lap.  He had to break the kiss as his breathing became a bit more uneven, and he cupped the other man’s cheek affectionately.

 

“I still have stuff to do,” Greg whispered reluctantly. He’d much rather remain on the sofa with Mycroft.  More kissing and maybe some heavy petting would be lovely right about now.  But he had a lot to do.  He couldn’t set it all aside for the rest of the night, as much as he desperately wanted to.

 

“Can I be of any assistance?” Mycroft asked softly, gazing up at him.  His pale eyes had darkened slightly in a way that sent a shiver down the older man’s spine.

 

“I don’t want you to keep yourself awake for me,” Greg said, eyes shifting a bit as he reached up to stroke Mycroft’s hair. The action caused him to smile and close his eyes, leaning into the touch a bit.

 

“It’s no inconvenience,” he muttered after a second, stroking Greg’s side.  It felt good. It calmed him and sent a heat through him at the same time.

 

“Just stay?” Greg finally asked.

 

“It would be my pleasure,” Mycroft smiled, pulling him in for another kiss.


	161. Missing Him Horribly

Greg stared into his pint glass with a somber expression, gazing at the golden liquid as he shifted it back and fourth slightly. He needed to buck up a bit. The point of coming out to the pub wasn’t to sit in silence and focus on… He sighed, setting the glass down and running a hand through his hair.

 

“Sorry,” he said to John, who was sitting beside him patiently. “I’m meaning to be much more company than I am.”

 

“S’okay,” John said, shaking his head and waving a hand in front of him dismissively. “I’m here for you tonight, mate, all right?”

 

Greg nodded.  He was so grateful to have John in his life.  Being caught in the whirlwind of two Holmes men made it difficult sometimes.  He’d had many years of dealing with the force of them alone, so to have someone in his same state of mind, someone he was a true mate with, made things easier.

 

“How long’s he been gone?” John asked after a moment.

 

“Five weeks and counting,” Greg frowned. Admitting the time frame sent an ache through his chest that caused him to pick his beer back up and take a long swig from.

 

“Christ,” John breathed, shoulders slumping as he leaned his elbows on the bar.  He signaled for the barman to get them another round.  Greg opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it as the drinks were already being poured.

 

“Yeah, I know,” Greg huffed a soft laugh. It was awful.  The trip wasn’t supposed to last longer than a month. Now it was almost a month and a half and the last time he’d talked to his partner, there was no clear ending point. To say he was upset wasn’t the half of it.

 

“I’m so sorry, Greg,” John frowned, reaching over to squeeze Greg’s bicep gently.  The doctor gazed at him with sympathetic eyes, and he tried to smile in return.

 

“I just miss him so much,” he groaned, scrubbing his face with one hand roughly. “He tries to talk to me, but some days he can’t at all.  He’s literally in meetings all day.  He’ll end up shooting me a text saying ‘All right’ or ‘Good night’, something along those lines, so I know everything’s fine, but…”

 

“Well that’s good, though,” John said, trying to focus on the upside.  He wanted desperately to lift his best friend’s spirits.  It was awful seeing Greg in such a state.

 

“Yeah, but I miss his voice,” Greg said, his voice starting to tremble slightly.  He blamed it on the number of pints they’d had.  He wasn’t entirely sober at this point, which made him more emotionally vulnerable, and he’d always been able to open up to John.  John understood, and he was supportive, and he was amazing.

 

“I know, Greg,” John whispered, pushing their empty glasses aside as fresh ones were placed in front of them. “I know how hard it is. In a way.”

 

And he did, didn’t he?  Circumstances were entirely different, but John had been in very similar situations with Sherlock.  He knew what Greg was going through, and that was part of what made him feel such comfort from him.  In all things, they supported each other when it came to their relationships with the Holmes brothers. Greg supposed that’s what kept them both sane individuals.

 

“Our bed is so bloody big without him,” Greg continued. He’d felt a dam break and there was no going back now. “Things are so quiet.  The house is eerily quiet, my phone is quiet, and everything is just… I feel so… lost some days. I miss his touch, the feelings of his arms around me.  Being able to press my cheek against his shoulder.  I miss him, John.  God.”

 

Taking a shaky breath, Greg reached up and rubbed at his eyes before tears could fall.  He needed to keep it together somehow.  He was a mess.  He wanted Mycroft to come home, to him, to their life, and he wanted to kiss him forever.

 

“Come back to mine tonight,” John suggested after a few long moments of silence.  He was rubbing along Greg’s back and shoulders, pulling him close to wrap his arm around and hug him.

 

“I…” Greg started.  He wanted to accept the invitation.  He knew that if he went home, it would just hurt tonight. But he didn’t want to be an inconvenience.

 

“Seriously.   Come back to Baker Street.  Stay in my company for a while longer, and perhaps Sherlock can amuse us with something. We can throw on football, or some crazy action movie.  Or, if you really want a laugh, we can make Sherlock watch a romantic comedy or reality television.”

 

John grinned brightly at Greg.

 

“I wouldn’t be any trouble?” he asked softly, sniffing and trying to breathe normally.  John shook his head.

 

“Nah, not at all.  I don’t go to the clinic tomorrow and you and Sherlock don’t currently have a case.  Seriously. Come home with me, okay? We can leave after this round,” John said.

 

Greg managed a grateful smile, and finally, he nodded.

 

“Ta John,” he said, clearing his throat and turning back to his beer.

 

“Any time, Greg,” John responded as he did the same.


	162. Let Me Make It Up To You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a huge thank you to everyone who keeps coming back and reading these little drabbles day after day. And to those who always take the time to comment, thank you thank you thank you. Your reviews continue to always make me smile. Whether you comment on almost every single chapter, like iamtheparadoxoflife, ScarlettLikesUmbrellas, Fandom_Fan, and Ruxie, or the occasionally reviewer, I bloody well love you all. Thank you. Seriously

Work was exhausting, as it always seemed to be. Mycroft was looking forward to the day being over, however.  With the close of the day came an evening spent with his dear Gregory.  Neither of them had a work-related obligation to tend to, so they had planned on spending the evening in together, relaxing with a nice dinner and then spending some time on the sofa.

 

He got home first that afternoon, though it shouldn’t be by long.  As he was changing into a more casual set of clothing, his mobile went off, signaling a new text. Pausing as he took off his waistcoat, he turned and picked it up.

 

_Hey, love. Sherlock is being an absolute prat, and John’s all out of sorts right now.  I’m gonna take him by the pub, try and perk up his spirits a bit, okay? Be home in a few, I won’t be too late. I swear.  –GL_

Mycroft sighed through his nose as he read over the words.  Well… there went those plans.  He knew Gregory didn’t mean intentionally to bail, and knowing Sherlock, John was most likely in need of some good company and a strong drink.  That didn’t stop the older Holmes from feeling a bit irritated about the change of events.

 

As much as he wanted to, he did not text his brother to pointedly tell him off.  Nor did he try and harbor any of his irritation towards his partner. Gregory was looking out for John, who was an old and dear friend, and he was just a kind man in that regard. He steeled himself, pushing down the bit of hurt that he couldn’t help but feel at spending more time at home alone than he was supposed to have been, and went to get some work done in his study. No point in wasting his time.

 

It was two hours later that Mycroft heard the front door open and shut.  There was silence, and he stilled his movements as he wrote up documents for a meeting he had next month, just listening.  There was the sound of steady footsteps walking through the hall.  So Gregory wasn’t drunk then.  He was thankful for that.  He had a feeling that if the older man had consumed a bit too much, he really would have had a more difficult time letting it slide.

 

“Mycroft?” he heard the older man call out. Mycroft hesitated, before setting his pen down and standing.  He stretched a bit and pocketed his mobile, before heading out of his study to meet where Gregory was standing in the kitchen and pulling out containers of what seemed to be Chinese food.

 

“Hey,” he said with a smile as Mycroft entered the room. “Picked up food from our favorite Chinese place since I was home a bit later.  I’m real sorry about that.”

 

“Quite all right,” Mycroft said softly, stepping forward to glance at the food.  He picked up a pair of chopsticks, turning it over in his hands silently. There was a pause in the motions in front of him, and Mycroft shut his eyes as he heard footsteps getting closer. Then, a pair of arms was wrapping around his waist from behind, and Gregory’s forehead was pressed against a shoulder blade.

 

“I’m really sorry,” Greg whispered with a sigh. “I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings… John was just…”

 

“I know,” Mycroft said, clenching the chopsticks tightly.  He was mostly over it, but that hadn’t changed the fact that he had been disappointed. “I understand.”

 

It was clear that Gregory felt bad for what he’d done, even though Mycroft had fully understood why he did.  It made his heart ache in the best way.  The older man was truly the kindest Mycroft had ever known. Finally, he set the chopsticks down and rested one of his hands over the two clasped together against his stomach.

 

“Why don’t we eat before everything gets cold,” he suggested, trying to pull them into what they could of the night they’d had planned.  He received a tighter hug before Gregory stepped back, and continued splitting out their portions of dinner.

 

They did retire to the sofa after dinner, even if bed was soon.  Mycroft curled into Gregory’s side with a soft sigh, resting his head on his chest and listening to that heartbeat.

 

“I’m going to make it up to you,” Greg rumbled.

 

“You don’t have to,” Mycroft whispered in return, and he meant it.  He was feeling better now.

 

“I already have, though,” came the response. Blinking, Mycroft lifted his head to look at the older man quizzically.

 

“Oh?” he asked, both curious and shocked. It made a grin spread across Greg’s face.

 

“Yup,” he nodded. “I texted Anthea, and then swung by the Yard after the pub… We both have the day off tomorrow.”

 

It took a few seconds for the shock to melt away and for Mycroft to absorb those words.  The day off?  Immediately, he started trying to go through the calendar in his mind to see what exactly Anthea had rescheduled or taken onto her plate.

 

“Stop thinking into it,” Greg laughed affectionately. “Anthea said you would.  She told me she had everything covered.  So let’s have a lie in tomorrow, yeah?  I don’t want us to leave the house, or even the bed, if we don’t have to.”

 

Gregory’s grin was suggestive and contagious. Mycroft could feel one beginning to slide onto his own face.

 

“That sounds amazing,” he said, leaning close to curl their legs together and kiss the older man passionately.


	163. Refusing To Admit It

“Come on Lestrade, do keep up,” Sherlock said in an impatient huff.  The lanky detective scoffed before darting off, not bothering to wait for a response.

 

Greg couldn’t do these all night chases through London the way he used to.  He’d be damned if he would admit it out loud… but it was more difficult for him now. He was exhausted, and Sherlock wasn’t getting any slower, and he just wasn’t cut out for this anymore.

 

Logically, he should start looking at retirement options.  He had them, and they were good, and he lived a comfortable life.  But… he couldn’t bring himself to do it.  He couldn’t bring himself to admit that at almost 51 years of age, he just wasn’t cut out for this life style anymore.  The long hours, the lack of sleep or proper diet, the exertion chasing criminals… or Sherlock… His mind was still as sharp as ever, but his body was beginning to protest it.

 

He felt hackles raise and anger bubble at Sherlock’s comment.  It had not been the first time recently he had talked degrading to Greg about how slow he had started to become.  At least this time he didn’t make a quip about the age or physicality.  Greg never really could handle hearing someone say it out loud.

 

He was stiff and frustrated as he got home that night. Every muscle ached, and he knew he needed a long bath or shower.  He needed to have that hot water loosen his muscles, and then he wanted to sleep for days. He dragged himself in the house and up to the bedroom, where Mycroft was awake and sitting in bed with a book.

 

“Welcome home darling,” the younger man commented, closing his book and setting it aside.  Greg managed a tiny smile as he pulled off his jacket. The expression in his partner’s face changed almost instantly, picking up on the way Greg carried himself and the exhaustion that had seeped so deep into his features that it was surely noticeable to anyone at this point.

 

“Gregory?” Mycroft asked after climbing out of bed and striding over to him.  Greg shut his eyes and frowned, glancing away.

 

“M’fine,” he muttered, really not in the mood for it. Whatever it was going to be. His pride and ego had gotten enough of a beating for one night.  He didn’t want to acknowledge what he was so clearly battling right now. He couldn’t admit it to himself. God knows he didn’t want to hear the love of his life admit it either.

 

“You’re hurting and exhausted,” came the response, and slender fingers ran their way through Greg’s silver hair. He sighed, leaning into the touch.

 

“I just wanna go to bed,” he groaned, tugging off his shirt and dumping it on the ground next to him.

 

“You need a shower,” Mycroft said. Greg knew he was right. He did need a shower. He would most likely regret it in the morning, but it didn’t stop him from shaking his head anyway.

 

“No,” he said, unbuttoning his trousers and starting to step out of them. “Just sleep.”

 

Mycroft was quiet as Greg continued undressing and dressing into pajamas.  It was obvious the older man was going to be stubborn on the topic.  Greg didn’t miss how Mycroft stayed close, even as they both made their way back over to the bed and climbed in together. Instantly, Greg rolled into his side and curled into Mycroft, smiling and closing his eyes as comforting arms wrapped around his torso.

 

“You should consider looking at retirement options,” Mycroft said after a few peaceful moments.  Greg’s entire body froze up.  He wanted to pull away from the other man, but he forced himself to remain. He tried to force down the hurt.

 

“Myc, I…” he started, his voice shaking a bit. He swallowed.

 

“There is nothing wrong with it, Gregory,” Mycroft pressed on, his voice firm and gentle.  As if to lessen the blow they were obviously giving, he started stroking Greg’s hair again. “You have been a vital part of New Scotland Yard for many years, but there’s nothing wrong with finally taking time for yourself.”

 

Greg forced down the tears wanting to prickle at his eyes.  _No_.  He… he couldn’t accept… He sighed, gripping Mycroft pajama top and turning his face into his shoulder a bit more.

 

“I can’t,” he whispered, voice slightly muffled. He felt pretty stupid for getting so insecure and worked up about it all.  Mycroft was right, and he knew there was nothing wrong with it. Yet, everything was wrong with it.

 

“You can,” Mycroft said. “Just think about it. Gregory, there is nothing dishonorable or foolish about retirement, especially in your line of work. You’re overworking yourself. I love you, and I’m just looking out for you.”

 

“Would you really love me if I just sat at home all bloody day like the old man I’m becoming?” Greg asked bitterly.

 

At that, Mycroft pushed on Greg a bit until they were both sitting.  He forced Greg to look straight into his eyes, a seriousness there that almost surprised the older man. He blinked, frozen as he stared at the love of his life, who was gently gripping his chin.

 

“Yes,” Mycroft whispered. “Nothing can make me stop loving you.  _Nothing **.”**_

****

Saying nothing else, Mycroft pulled Greg in for a passionate, yet gentle kiss.  Greg let himself melt into it.  He still didn’t like the idea, but… He didn’t know.  Maybe it was something to look at.

 

He really didn’t like the idea, though. Of course, falling asleep next to Mycroft Holmes, and kissing Mycroft Holmes, made the worry and tension seep out of him.  For now, at least.


	164. The Best Wine Tasting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doubling up tonight to make up for last night. A good friend came back from Germany after three years away and we went out last night. Celebrated seeing each other again. There was lots of drinking involved. Writing... would've probably been a bad decision, haha.

Greg breathed in the fresh country air with a smile, closing his eyes so he could enjoy the warmth and peaceful sounds of nature around him.  Sometimes living in the heart of London made one forget how this kind of thing felt, and it was always so refreshing to be reminded.  He would miss London soon enough, of course, but he was still in the stage where he found he never wanted to leave.

 

This was the second time he and Mycroft had come to stay at this private stone cottage in the heart of Surrey. It was a great vacationing spot for them.  It was close enough to London so that if either of them had to get back in a pinch, it wouldn’t be immensely difficult to do, while still being far enough to truly be getting away by themselves.

 

Greg had been extremely surprised when Mr. and Mrs. Holmes had given them this cottage.  It was apparently one of two they owned, the other one being over in Sussex and reserved for Sherlock if he ever decided to accept it. They’d been given the place as a wedding present, and Mycroft had apparently been expecting it. Greg still didn’t believe it some days. It sat alone in a gorgeous green field, large trees providing plenty of shade across the grounds, and a lovely clear stream running by one side.

 

Basically, it was heaven. 

 

Greg was stretched out along an outdoor sofa they had in the middle of their covered patio.  He was wearing sunglasses, a plain t-shirt, and jean shorts, ankles crossed and stretched along the length of the sofa.  His hands were folded under his head and he was just the picture of relaxation.  There were times when he considered having them both retire and move out here permanently. He wondered if they could. This relaxed, quiet lifestyle was great, but did it suit them for every day?  He wasn’t honestly sure.

 

“Gregory?” came his husband’s voice from behind him. Humming, Greg pushed up his sunglasses to prop up on the top of his head, and he tilted his head back to gaze at where Mycroft was standing in the doorway to the cottage. He was wearing shorts as well, though they were much more dressy than his own, and a pale, collared shirt tucked in. He looked so professional and casual at the same time.  Greg loved him.

 

“Yes, love?” he smiled, noticing now what Mycroft was carrying.  He held, in each slender hand, wine glasses, and what looked like a bottle tucked under his arm.

 

“Apologies if I am disturbing you, but I thought we might have some wine tasting?” Mycroft asked, stepping out onto the patio and heading his way.  Greg sat up straighter and turned so that his legs were hanging off the sofa now.

 

“Sounds lovely,” he smiled.  As if Mycroft could disturb him.  Wine tasting?  That was definitely more Mycroft’s thing than his own, but Greg did enjoy a good glass of wine, and with the younger man, he would do anything.  Maybe it was a bonus that alcohol was involved.

 

“Wonderful,” Mycroft smiled, handing over a glass before uncorking the bottle he had with him. “This first one is a red, a bit drier than what you normally drink.  However, it sits nicely on the tongue, and after settling for a few moments, is a very pleasant experience.”

 

Greg nodded, holding out his glass as the wine was poured, and doing what was smoothly instructed.  It was not the first time they’d done something like this, and Mycroft was really a wonderful host.  The wine was rather dry, and likely something Greg wouldn’t drink frequently, but it was good nonetheless.

 

They went on like for the better part of an hour. Mycroft brought out different wines and they talked about them softly, before having at least half a glass of each. For the more enjoyable ones, maybe they indulged a little bit more.  They also had an assortment of snacks to eat along with it: cheeses and crackers, fruits, and some sandwiches Greg had made that morning.  It was bloody wonderful.

 

Greg wasn’t sure how many wines they’d tried at that point, but he was definitely feeling tipsy.  He also didn’t miss the way their bodies gravitated closer with each new glass they had, and how slowly hands began to stray.  At this point, Greg was hardly paying attention to the description Mycroft was insisting on giving for the wine he’d just brought out. It was fruity, he’d said. Greg was much more interested in his husband’s flush lips, and the way his tongue would occasionally slip out and run along his bottom lip slowly.  He was enjoying the sight of his pale, exposed neck, pupils widening and heart racing.

 

Mycroft was drinking.  Greg’s drink was forgotten in his hand.  Finally, when their eyes locked, they froze for a moment before Greg acted.  He reached over and took Mycroft’s wine glass from him, setting them both aside.  He watched as his pale eyes darkened when he climbed onto his husband’s lap.  Their noses were touching and their breath mingling.  Greg was noticeably aroused.

 

Swallowing, he closed the distance and initiated a heated kiss.  His tongue slid along Mycroft’s thin lips as he was granted access, and they pressed against each other with soft groans.

 

“I taste the fruity flavor,” Greg whispered, voice surprisingly deep.  He could feel Mycroft shiver under him.  In that moment, he decided the best kind of wine tasting was when Mycroft drank the wine and Greg licked his way into his mouth afterwards.  _Yes_.

 

“Gregory, we should… go inside…”

 

But Greg was already pressing against him with more purpose now, kissing and nibbling on an earlobe.

 

“There’s no one else for miles,” he whispered in a seductive way he knew Mycroft couldn’t ignore. “C’mon.  Let me fuck you outside.”

 

“Gregory, _language_ ,” Mycroft attempted to scold, but already he was clutching onto the older man’s shirt tightly.  It was obvious he wanted it just as badly.  Greg wasn’t going to hesitate.  The wine quickly became a secondary activity.


	165. He Had It Bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is extremely NSFW. Heh. ;)

Mycroft’s trousers were uncomfortably tight.  He shifted in his chair as casually as he could, taking deep breaths through his nose, but it wasn’t helping.  His heart was pounding, and he could feel his very obvious erection aching, hidden under all his clothing and dying to be uncovered.

 

“Look at you,” a deep voice cooed roughly.  Mycroft had to shut his eyes, feeling it vibrating through every inch of him.  He shivered. “So eager.  So _wanting_.”

 

Mycroft bit his lip.  His eyes flew open again as he felt a finger tracing the outline of his cock against his trousers.  His lips parted in a gasp, and he stared up at Gregory Lestrade, who was standing between him and his desk, leaning over him with a dark look in his eyes.

 

“I can’t wait to unravel you,” Gregory was muttered, eyes sliding along his frame.  Mycroft wanted.  He found that he couldn’t wait either.  It was all rather surprising.

 

“Gregory,” he gasped, his hips twitching as he yearned to press up into the touch that was teasing him so terribly.

 

“Now now,” Gregory said, pulling back.  Mycroft whimpered at the loss, and his cheeks flushed at the lack of control he found himself dealing with.  Honestly, he had a much better handle on himself than this.  It was downright embarrassing.  The older man chuckled.

 

“What do you want?” he asked, still standing straight and no longer touching him.  Mycroft wanted… everything.  Most importantly, he wanted to be touched again.

 

“I want…” he started to say, voice shaking and not holding any of the authority it usually did.  He was a bit uncomfortably vulnerable, but the analyzing part of his brain could really care less.  Because he wanted… “Touch me, Gregory.”

 

“Touch you…” Gregory was saying, trailing off with a pointed look.  Mycroft wanted to groan. 

 

“ _Please_ ,” he whimpered, letting his head fall back and shifting in his chair again.  The slight bit of friction it created as his clothing shifting over his achingly hard erection almost made him gasp again.

 

“You could probably get off just like that,” Gregory said, his voice sounding rough and aroused and a bit shocked.  Mycroft couldn’t bring himself to look at him, because he was probably right. “So sensitive.  Would you come for me like that if I told you to?”

 

Gregory was so filthy.  It was embarrassing.  Mycroft surprised himself with how much he loved it.  He thought dirty talking had been rather ridiculous and nothing he ever wasted his time on, because it always took him out of whatever moment he was attempting to achieve, but when Gregory Lestrade did it… Mycroft could listen to it all day.

 

“Answer me.” Gregory’s voice was commanding, yet gentle.  Mycroft needed more.  He managed a nod.

 

“M-most likely,” he said, his voice barely sounding like his own.  _Oh honestly_.

 

He was rewarded with a sure hand cupping his erection and rubbing eagerly.  Mycroft practically yelped, eyes flying open just to see how close their faces were all of a sudden.  He barely bit back a moan and decided not to hold back.  He rocked down into Gregory’s hand eagerly.

 

“More…” he muttered, and was rewarded with a heated kiss.  His arms flew around Gregory’s neck immediately, pulling close.  He could hear his zip being undone, and suddenly there was a rush of cool air as his trousers were parted.  He gasped into the older man’s hot mouth, arching up as his erection was finally pulled free and fingers were wrapping around and stroking…

 

With a start, Mycroft’s eyes flew open.  He was panting harshly, and he realized… He was alone.  In bed.  He had been dreaming.

 

With a groan, he covered his eyes with his arm.  His heart was beating so loud and intense that he could hear it in his ears.  This was not the first time he’d had dreams like this.  He had been aware for a while just how attracted to Gregory Lestrade he had become, but it had gone downhill when, two weeks ago, they had been drinking and ended up making out in the backseat of his car.

 

They had seen each other since, of course, but they were both nervous.  The kisses they shared had been heated and wanting, and they both felt what it meant.  Neither of them seemed to be able to actually make of it what it was.

 

So, not for the first time, he was lying in bed with an erection.  He glanced down at where his silky pajama pants were tented, slightly darkened from the moisture of pre-ejaculate, and he knew.  He couldn’t leave things like this.

 

Closing his eyes and pushing down his clothing, he wrapped his slender fingers around himself, panting.  He imagined a different hand stroking him as slowly as he was doing so now, and he came with the Detective Inspector’s name on his lips.


	166. Surprise!

“What exactly are you doing?” Mycroft asked, arching an eyebrow as his partner tied a blindfold over his eyes with a grin. They had just climbed into the car and settled in, and then out of nowhere Greg had pulled the cloth out of his pocket, and here they were.

 

“Surprising you,” was all he said in way of explanation, before leaning forward to hand the driver written instructions of where they were going.  The man nodded with an amused smile, and off they went.

 

Mycroft had a slight frown on his face as they rode. Being blindfolded wasn’t the most ideal scenario, and not knowing what was happening was even more unpleasant. The only redeeming thing about what was currently happening was the feeling of Greg’s fingers on his thigh, brushing along in small circles.  After a little while of driving, however, Mycroft’s brow furrowed. He was unable to see, but he still turned to face his partner.

 

“Are we going to the British museum?” he asked curiously.  Why else would they be driving to the West End?

 

“How do you…” Greg started to ask, but trailed off and shook his head. “Nevermind.  No, we’re not.”

 

Mycroft smirked slightly.  He recognized the patterns of turning and stop lights they were moving along with, though he did always love catching his darling Gregory off guard, even when he was the one that was supposed to be surprised. He tried thinking about everything else of significance that was nearby, but couldn’t come to the correct conclusion. It was infuriating.

 

“Here we are,” Greg announced as the car was pulling over and coming to a stop.  He reached over and opened a door, guiding Mycroft to climb out and onto the pavement. He kept an arm loosely around his back as he turned and had them walk just a bit, before pulling him to a stop. Then, he reached up and took off the blindfold.  Mycroft blinked his eyes open immediately, and then arched an eyebrow.

 

“McDonalds?” he asked incredulously as he stared at the golden arches.  There was silence, and he glanced over at Greg to see the shocked look on his face. That shock quickly melted into laughter.

 

“Oh bloody hell,” Greg laughed loudly. He had to turn away and cover his mouth, taking a moment to recover as Mycroft practically glared at him. “No. No, Mycroft, not that. _That_.”

 

Still giggling a bit, he pointed at a shoppe a few buildings down.  Mycroft turned to follow the gesture, and when he laid eyes on the place in question, his eyes widened and his lips parted a bit. 

 

“James Smith and Sons Umbrellas?” he asked in slight disbelief.  Greg was sporting one of the proudest grins.

 

“Yep,” he nodded, folding his arms across his chest and gazing up at the taller man.  Mycroft blinked.  Surprisingly, he’d never been here.  He’d heard of it, naturally, and seen a few of the umbrellas and walking sticks that had been purchased from there, but…

 

“Gregory,” he started, but the words actually escaped him.

 

“C’mon,” Greg said, taking a few steps forward. “Let’s go in, Myc.”

 

He reached out and wiggled his fingers invitingly, and finally, Mycroft took the offered hand.  He allowed Greg to lead him up to the front door, where he couldn’t help but glance in through one of the windows, and then the door was opening with a small ring and there they were.

 

Umbrellas were everywhere.  On display, in stands, grouped together by style and color, and… Wow.  Mycroft was in awe. He’d had expectations about how this place might have been laid out, and they were completely overshot. Greg was gazing at Mycroft, watching the subtle changes in his face that said so much for him. He had been so excited about this, and it was so worth it.

 

Running a hand through his hair, Greg turned to glance at the other side of the shoppe, nodding to the clerk with a smile, and then turning back.  And Mycroft was gone. Greg blinked.  Where in the hell had he disappeared to?

 

“Mycroft?” he called out softly, taking a few steps in. He received no reply. He continued to peer around, until _finally_ , he spotted a flash of slight ginger hair poke out amongst the variety of umbrella handles. He chuckled softly and shook his head. It was downright adorable.

 

“These are Bedford,” Mycroft muttered softly once he walked over, lifting up a slim umbrella with a black handle. “They are leather and rather comfortable for when you have to hold it for long periods of time. Also very good for decoration purposes. And these here, these are Holborn. Their design is exactly the same as the Bedford but with a Malacca cane handle.  They both have the beechwood and metal here, see?”

 

Greg glanced at what Mycroft was gesturing at. He smiled and nodded, even though the mechanics he was getting described to him really made no sense. He didn’t care. He could literally stand and listen to Mycroft gush about this until the end of time.  The younger man was acting like a kid on Christmas morning, and it was the most beautiful sight.

 

“What about these?” he asked with a bright grin, picking up one that had a dinosaur head.  He turned and bobbed it up and down slightly, tilting his head and adopting a goofy voice. “Hello Mycroft.  My name is Rex.”

 

The look Mycroft gave him made it all worth it. He smirked and set the umbrella down again.  Mycroft just shook his head.

 

“Honestly, Gregory,” he sighed, but Greg noticed the slight smile he was also sporting.  Greg chuckled again.

 

“Tell me about these ones,” he asked, gesturing to some that had ridges in the handle.

 

“Seriously?” Mycroft asked, blinking. Greg smiled and nodded. Mycroft grinned brightly and stepped over, leaning in for a gentle kiss. “You are a wonderful man and I love you.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Greg mumbled, blushing. Mycroft brushed their noses together before pulling back and taking out one of the ones he’d pointed to.

 

“These handles are Whangee cane…”


	167. I Wanna Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Greg and John bromance. Because it's one of my favorite things.

“So – and god help me for asking, but – what’s it like having _sex_ with him?” Greg asked after polishing off his sixth pint.  He leaned against the edge of the bar, watching John as he waited for an answer.

 

A sober Greg Lestrade would definitely have not asked his best mate John Watson about his sex life with his flatmate turned recent lover, Sherlock Holmes.  Nope. A part of his mind was regretting it even now.  But Greg was very much not sober.  So, all of that was out the window.

 

“Bloody amazing,” John grinned, halfway through his sixth pint as well.  Greg couldn’t help but laugh.  Of course John would say it was amazing.  He said that about everything else regarding Sherlock, so it just fit.  It made him giggle.

 

“Yeah?  So he’s not, you know, clueless in that area?” Greg asked with a sloppy gesture of his hand that turned into a request for their next round. He needed to stop drinking. But nah. 

 

“Not one bit,” John snorted. “Christ Greg, he’s the most saucy, adventurous person I’ve ever been in bed with. And he just knows things. He knows things that shouldn’t be possible, but they feel so fucking good.”

 

It really was TMI.  Greg didn’t miss the way John shivered slightly at just the thought of the activities he was currently referencing.  Greg found it fascinating, though.  So Sherlock was wild in the sheets.  That was what he deduced from that, so yeah.

 

“When are you getting someone?” John asked, pointing at the older man before picking up the new drink that had just been set in front of them.  Greg glanced at his own and hummed.

 

“Dunno,” he said honestly, taking a long swig of his beer.  He should cap it at seven. Getting up in the morning was going to be a bitch.

 

“Anyone in mind?” John asked after a moment.

 

“Oh yeah,” Greg sighed before he could stop himself. “There really fucking is.”

 

A certain someone that also shared the family name of Holmes.  Greg had such a yearning and hard on for Mycroft Holmes it wasn’t even funny. He wanted him romantically, he wanted him sexually, he just… _wanted_.

 

“I bet Mycroft’s clavicle is fun to kiss…” he muttered, which totally gave way the explanation that John had planned on asking for.

 

“Mycroft Holmes?” John asked, to clarify what he’d just heard.  Greg nodded.

 

“Mmhmm.  With that slender, pale neck.  Wanna bite it. Wanna… You know, I wonder if there’s hair there, on his chest?  A light dusting, or is it bare?  I wonder what kind of noise he makes when you bite in the hollow of his neck. I wonder what it sounds like when his breath hitches as you hit just the right spots.  I wonder what it takes to finally make his cool, emotionless exterior melt away.  I wanna know, John. I wanna find out.”

 

“Jesus Greg, you’ve got it bad,” John exhaled, shifting to get a bit more comfortable in his seat.

 

“Yeah, I know,” Greg frowned, running a hand through his silver hair and taking another long drink. “Sorry mate, that was…”

 

“No, s’fine,” John said, shaking his head and waving his hand. “You should tell him.”

 

“John, I’m drunk as a skunk, do not put these thoughts in my head.  You might make them sound like a good idea,” Greg laughed, gripping his sweating glass a bit tighter. He couldn’t tell Mycroft. That would be a disaster. They were common associates thanks to Sherlock, and he supposed they were friends.  But he doubted there was any way there were returning feelings there.

 

“No, I _am_ putting those thoughts in my head,” John argued back gently. “Because you did for me.  And thanks to you, Sherlock and I… No.  I’m returning the favor. The end result might surprise you.”

 

“He’s a Holmes, he always surprises me,” Greg muttered.

 

“Exactly that,” John chuckled. “So fucking do it. I’m serious.  Never mind that we’re seven pints in.”

 

“ _Jesus_ ,” Greg groaned, rubbing his face roughly. “I need to go home.”

 

“Yeah.  Me too. After this one, yeah?”

 

Greg nodded.  Yeah, after this last pint.  They switched conversation back over to the most recent crime they’d solved, and how Arsenal was doing in the football division currently.  It was a nice distraction, and Greg was very drunk. But he couldn’t stop thinking about John’s words.  John’s encouragement.

 

Perhaps he was right.  What was the worst that could happen?  He already kind of expected to get turned down, so there really was no surprise that would be bad.  He wasn’t sure how his pained, sober brain would feel about this all come morning, but right now… His drunk brain thought it was a grand idea.

 

Because after all, he really _did_ want to find out all those things.


	168. He Drunk Texted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a few requests for a follow-up of yesterday's drabble, and I couldn't resist, hehe. So!! TheRedHeadinQuestion, iamtheparadoxoflife, Ruxie, and Harro86, I hope this is kinda what you had in mind! :D

_Your clavicle is super hot you know._

_Very kissable._

_Wish I could find out_.

 

That series of texts that Mycroft was alerted to was far from what he expected to get.  His eyebrows shot up as high as they had ever gone as he stared at the words on the screen.  Sent by Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade.

 

This… honestly had to be a joke. There was no way Gregory had sent these. Right?  He continued to stare at them, trying to process the words in front of him.  Sherlock must have stolen the poor Detective Inspector’s phone again.  That’s really all there was to it.

 

_Return Gregory’s mobile phone to him and delete those texts immediately. –MH_

He sent the text to Sherlock’s mobile instead, not wanting to leave anything more embarrassing for the poor older man to discover later.  His eyebrows only rose again when the reply came.

 

_I’ve no idea to what you are referring, Mycroft.  Go away.  –SH_

Was Sherlock… serious?  Blinking, Mycroft went back to his text thread with Gregory. He was now sitting up straight in bed, where before he’d been leaning back casually.  If Sherlock didn’t have his phone, then… then he…

 

_Are you drunk? -MH_

He licked his lips as he impatiently waited for a response.  If Gregory had sent those, than surely that was the only explanation.  There wasn’t a response for a long time, longer than Mycroft had honestly expected, so with a sigh, he turned on his side and reached to put his mobile back on the nightstand so he could get some sleep. As he was in the middle of that process, though, it went off again.  His chest clenched in a strange way.

 

_Maybe, but entirely not the point._

_I’d be good for you.  You know. Wish I could have you._

 

And that was that.  Mycroft was frozen for what felt like an eternity, with no clue how to respond.  However, not another text was sent.  It was forty minutes later when he finally decided to lie back down and attempt to get a few hours of sleep. That… didn’t happen. Not with what had just happened. It was all Mycroft could think about.

 

He was distracted the next morning as well. There was no other correspondence, which meant that most likely Gregory had gotten home and passed out. He was immensely curious as to what would happen when the older man realized the slight conversation that had occurred between them.

 

He had been drunk.  Mycroft had to keep reminding himself that. He had been drunk and bizarre things happened when you were drunk like that.  He had to keep reminding himself that, so he would try and avoid as much disappointment as he could. 

 

The dreams he’d had that night got downright filthy. His clavicle… He couldn’t stop thinking about Gregory’s lips pressed against there, feeling their softness, smelling his shampoo.  It was not the first time he’d thought of the Detective Inspector in such a light. It would definitely not be the last.

 

Come lunchtime, he still had no new texts. Part of him wanted to text Gregory and see how he was faring the day after drinking so heavily. On a whim, he… decided to stop by the Yard instead.  He had no idea what exactly took him there, but before he could second-guess himself, he was walking through the building and knocking on the door to Gregory’s office.

 

“Come in!” he heard the man call out. Squaring his shoulders, Mycroft slipped inside.

 

His first assessment was that Gregory was still dealing with the headache and slight nausea multiple pints had no doubt caused him. Most likely he’d been camped out at his desk all day.    He watched as the man looked up, not missing a single facial expression he sported. He started exhausted, shifted into work mode, and then upon realizing who was in the room with him, became confused and then mortified.  Ah. So he did know about the text conversation.

 

“M-mycroft,” he mumbled, his brown eyes staring immediately back at where his hands were folded together on his desk. “Can I help you?”

 

“I… wanted to see how you were faring,” he replied truthfully.  He watched Gregory nod slightly.

 

“Ah.  I’m… fine.”

 

Calmly, Mycroft walked forward and sat down in one of the chairs on the other side of the desk.  Silence fell between them.  Finally, Mycroft just decided to put it out there. No sense in stepping around it all.

 

“About your texts,” he began, but got no further before he was interrupted.

 

“I’m so sorry about those Mycroft,” Gregory said hurriedly, still not looking at him. “I was really drunk.  John and I went out, and…”

 

“So you did not mean them, then?” Mycroft went to confirm, feeling the disappointment he told himself not to have settling in anyway.

 

Silence.  Gregory looked up at him, and they stared at each other for a while.

 

“I…”

 

“It’d quite all right, Gregory. We can set it aside. It won’t affect our relationship,” he said dismissively, moving to stand.

 

“But what if I want it to,” the older man blurted out suddenly.  Mycroft froze where he’d started to turn, and looked back over his shoulder at him.

 

“You… want it to?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. His heart was racing.

 

“Yeah, maybe…” Greg shrugged, and then shook his head. “Yeah. Yes.  I just… I didn’t want to tell you that way…”

 

“Then why don’t we go to dinner this evening?” Mycroft suggested.  His heart was pounding, but this was actually happening.  Shock returned to Gregory’s face, followed by a bright smile that clenched Mycroft’s heart.

 

“Sounds great,” he beamed, nodding.

 

“I’ll text you,” Mycroft smiled sweetly, and genuinely. The expression Gregory got in his eyes upon noticing that smile was a good sign that made Mycroft feel… giddy.


	169. Uncomfortably Hot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan on trying to go back to the dinner after drunken texting... but couldn't really focus tonight. Our AC is out and it's so hot I can hardly stand it, and sometimes it's easiest to write along the lines of how I'm feeling, haha.

Greg didn’t want to move.  Moving meant effort.  Effort meant ugh.  At least, in his head it did. All of that was a combination of nope that he absolutely did not want to deal with right now.

 

“Myc, it’s so hot,” he groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes and sinking further into the sofa.  He was not equipped to deal with this.  He didn’t quite understand why people picked today of all days to do maintenance on their home, which ended up with their air conditioning going out.  On one of the hottest summer days London had been given so far.

 

“Perhaps if you get off the couch and move around, you would cool off,” Mycroft suggested, walking in from the kitchen. He was carrying two bottles of water, one for each of them, and was in a very rare combination of khaki shorts and a short-sleeved polo.  It was a really refreshing look on him, and the only good thing about the weather currently.

 

“But that would require moving,” Greg groaned, reaching up to accept the cold bottle that was given to him. He gazed up at his partner pathetically before uncapping the water and taking a very long drink from it.

 

“But it will also cool you down. Why don’t you join me out in the yard for a while?  I do believe there is a nice breeze going that would feel much better than the sofa.”

 

Greg gazed up at him, took another drink, and then sighed.  Maybe that would be better. He was feeling a bit desperate. At this point, he’d take just about anything to get some comfort.  So, it was with great reluctance that he shifted, pushing himself with his free hand to sit up, before standing.  He closed his eyes for a moment as he adjusted, and ran his hand through his slightly sweat-dampened hair, before nodding at the taller man.

 

Smiling, Mycroft turned and began to make his way out onto their patio.  Greg followed, and immediately was grateful for it.  He sighed as the first breeze hit him.  It had to have cooled him down by ten degrees at least. He continued drinking his water as he followed Mycroft, until they had gotten to a disconnected section about halfway into their yard.

 

The structure was small, and very private, with amazing airflow.  Mycroft had installed it two summers ago, and it had quickly become one of their favorite spots. As they sat down on the love seat they’d furnished it with, Greg couldn’t help but sigh again and close his eyes.

 

“This is lovely,” he said, shoulders slumping comfortably.  A small chuckle came from beside him, and he opened his eyes to see a very smug expression on his partner’s face.  He shook his head. “Oh hush.  Yes, you were right.”

 

“My dear, you focus entirely too much on the actual temperature you are feeling at a current time,” Mycroft commented, drinking his water.  Greg watched silently, waiting for him to continue. “Instead of focusing on the heat you are in, you should try to think of any way to alleviate said discomfort.”

 

“Well, that’s what I have you for,” Greg couldn’t help but grin.  He elbowed Mycroft affectionately and then drank more water.

 

“Sometimes I don’t know how you’d survive without me,” Mycroft mused.  There was a smile on his face and in his eyes, and Greg just let himself get lost in the comfortable expression.

 

“I wouldn’t,” he whispered, a little more heartfelt than perhaps Mycroft had expected.  The younger man blinked, but then broke out into a bigger smile.

 

“You are something else, Gregory Lestrade,” he said, shaking his head.

 

“I know,” Greg nodded, leaning in to kiss him gently. “And you love it.”

 

“Naturally,” Mycroft whispered, before starting up another gentle kiss as the breeze swirled around them.


	170. Please Pay Attention

Mycroft was sitting on the sofa, legs crossed loosely, a book in his hands.  He’d finally gotten some downtime from work; there was a lull in the usual negotiations and Anthea was handling a lot of the minor tasks, giving him the ability to actually spend some time at home.  It was almost a foreign concept for the politician, and he enjoyed it greatly.

 

It had given him the opportunity to see more of his partner, Gregory.  They’d actually been able to have comfortable, full meals together without the interruption of Mycroft’s mobile.  They had been able to lie in bed a little longer than normal in the mornings, and actually wake up next to each other at the same time for a change.  It was all rather lovely.

 

It was also giving him the chance to catch up on some of his reading.  He’d fallen a bit behind of the massive amount of books he’d planned on getting to, and some he had really wanted to reread.  Usually he would take one with him when he went on trips, giving him something to do for the plane ride, but that had seemed to dwindle a bit as of late, so this was his chance.

 

Of course, his darling partner wasn’t quite fond of the plan Mycroft had begun to execute.  Sometimes it was easy to forget that the man was bordering fifty. He had gotten about halfway through the book he was currently reading when the silence wasn’t enough for the older man anymore.  Mycroft blinked as Gregory was suddenly putting his head in his lap and sighing loudly.

 

“Myc,” he groaned dramatically, dropping his hands on his chest with a loud smack.  Arching an eyebrow, Mycroft lifted his book to stare down at the man who was all but pouting at him.

 

“Can I help you, my dear?” he asked curiously, tilting his head to the side.

 

“Do you have to read right now?”

 

“I would prefer to get some done, yes,” Mycroft admitted, nodding his head. “That does not mean you cannot sit here with me. You may put on the telly if you like.”

 

Readjusting his book, he went back to reading. Gregory had shifted some, doing just what had been suggested, and adjusting the volume to a level they could both handle.  With a soft smile, he turned the page, falling into the story once again.

 

Two pages later, there was once again a head falling into his lap, and the sound of another dramatic sigh being emitted from the man next to him.  Mycroft blinked.

 

“Come now, Gregory,” he sighed, lifting his book again to gaze down at those deep brown eyes staring up at him. “I will never finish at this rate.”

 

“But…” Gregory started, frowning a bit. He turned and stared at Mycroft’s stomach, and the younger man shook his head.  Holding his place with one finger, he shut the book and used his now free hand to stroke Gregory’s silver hair gently. He received a happy hum for these efforts, and it made him smile again.

 

“It’s not like we are not here together, my love,” he said softly. “When I am done, perhaps we can put on a movie, or take a bath together, okay?”

 

Once again, he went back to his reading. Silence fell between them again, and after a moment, Gregory was sitting up and getting off the sofa. Mycroft’s eyes flicked up for the briefest of moments before returning back to the book.

 

Movement in front of him caught his attention moments later.  He could hear the rustle of clothing, and with a surprised noise creeping up in his throat, Mycroft looked up from the book to see Gregory pulling off his shirt. The younger man stared.

 

“What are you doing?” he asked in a slightly hushed voice.  Gregory smirked, dropping his shirt on the ground.  Then, his hands were moving to the waistband of his trousers, and… Yes, he was unbuttoning them.  Mycroft could see the fine line of hair that led down to extremely pleasant things, no longer concealed by the clothing he was wearing, as they were quickly being taken off.

 

“You mentioned a bath?” Gregory asked, his voice low and suggestive.  Mycroft’s mouth went dry and he felt a shiver run through his spine.  Licking his lips, he remained frozen in spot as the older man slowly – _dear lord so slowly_ – slid his trousers down and then hooked his thumb in the waistband of his pants. The remaining clothing gave Mycroft a perfect outline of his crotch, and…

 

As Gregory turned, swaying his hips suggestively as he made his way towards the washroom, Mycroft hunted quickly for his bookmark and had to control himself so he would not completely toss the book aside. Yes, he was rather well distracted now.


	171. Unintentional Double Date

The night had started out wonderfully. Greg and Mycroft had gone to an upscale, quiet restaurant for dinner.  Greg had gotten out of the Yard at a decent time, and Mycroft rescheduled a meeting, so it worked out perfectly.  This weekend would be three years they had been together, so they decided to celebrate with a very nice dinner tonight, and then they were going away for the weekend.

 

They’d had appetizers, and were currently waiting for their main courses to be prepared.  Mycroft had ordered for them both, something Greg had come to realize was something he actually really liked.  He always ordered the best things, and he just _knew_ what Greg liked.  It gave him fuzzy feelings.

 

They were talking about nothing in particular; Greg was entertaining with some bizarre stories of his early days in the Yard. Mycroft was laughing. They were holding hands across the table, and it was all so beautiful.  Greg’s fingers were gently stroking across Mycroft’s palm as he spoke, chuckling softly and gazing into pale, bright eyes that were staring back into his own.

 

“So then, Sally comes in, yeah?” Greg was saying, a laugh bubbling up in his chest at the memory. “Third day on the job, bless her. And she-“

 

“Well now, looks who’s here!” a deep voice came, interrupting his sentence.  Both men froze, because they were both intimately familiar with whose voice that was.  To Greg’s relief, though, they did not disconnect their loving grasp on the table.

 

“Brother dear,” Mycroft nodded at the younger Holmes, who had waltzed up to the table with a grin on his face that made Greg know he interrupted just to get on their nerves.  He sighed.  John wandered up beside him, an apologetic expression on his face. Greg swore one day his face would just stick that way, living with Sherlock.

 

“Sherlock, they’re obviously having dinner,” he said in an annoyed tone. “As are we.  Let’s go back to our table?”

 

“No, I think it would be fine if we just had a seat, right? Maybe we can have our food brought over here instead,” Sherlock smirked arrogantly, pulling over two chairs and plopping into one.  John groaned as he sank into the other one in defeat.

 

“I’m really sorry you guys,” John sighed.

 

“Not on you,” Greg commented, glaring at Sherlock. “Sherlock.  Can you not right now?”

 

“Oh why, because you two are celebrating three years of putting up with each other?” Sherlock asked in a huff.

 

“That’s precisely why,” Mycroft commented before his little brother would continue. “Now go.  Honestly, you cannot stand to be around me most of the time, yet are eager to when it’s quite an inconvenience me.”

 

Silence fell across the table. Greg turned to glance at John and they both shrugged.  It was something they tended to do a lot when it came to their respective partners. There was still so much about the Holmes men that they had yet to unravel.

 

Sherlock and Mycroft were staring at each other. Sherlock’s eyes slanted as he raked his gaze up and down his brother’s form, which caused Mycroft to glare.

 

“Sherlock,” he said, a warning tone to his voice. “Do not do this.”

 

Sherlock’s lips were parted all of a sudden, a look of clarity dawning on his face.  Greg had seen it many times on a crime scene, and couldn’t help but be horribly curious what about Mycroft was causing that look now.

 

“Ah.  This is… interesting,” Sherlock mumbled.  He received a heated glare from Mycroft, who had now taken his hand back.

 

“ _Go_ ,” he hissed through his teeth.  Greg and John both blinked.

 

Food had arrived during the whole exchange, and Greg barely managed a smile and a nod at the waiter, thanking him softly before he left again.  He turned to stare back at Mycroft.

 

“Hmm.  Yes, very interesting.  I see now,” Sherlock was mumbling.  Mycroft’s gaze was becoming more hostile with every sentence.  It was not a look Greg saw often.

 

“Sherlock, we should go,” John tried again, also seeing the stare the older Holmes was giving him.  He looked as clueless as Greg felt, but finally, after a bit of urging, he tugged Sherlock out of the chair.

 

“Worst double date ever,” Sherlock commented, and John elbowed him.

 

“Like you would actually want to go on a double date with anyone,” he fussed, before turning back to the table. “Sorry again, guys. See you later, yeah?”

 

Then, John was shoving Sherlock away before any more damage could be done.  Greg waited a few moments, watching a bit of calm returning to Mycroft’s form, before deciding to speak.

 

“What was that about?” he asked, blinking. Mycroft smiled softly.

 

“Nothing to be concerned over. Now, what is it you were saying about Sergeant Donovan?”

 

Greg paused a moment more, before slipping back into the story he’d started to tell.  In his pocket, Mycroft was heavily aware of the small box sitting there, and was only grateful Doctor Watson had taken Sherlock away before he could’ve done the damage he was threatening to do to the surprise.


	172. Glasses

With a bit of reluctance, Greg was leaning close and knocking softly on the door to Mycroft’s study.  The younger man had been forced to step away from their evening to take a very important phone call and sort out some documents, so he had been gone for the better part of two hours.  He could hear Mycroft speaking on the other side of the door, clearly in the middle of another phone call, and for a moment thought he should just leave it be and come back later.

 

“Yes?” he heard his husband call right as he was turning to walk away.  Good timing, he supposed.  With a soft sigh, he cracked the door open and poked his head inside.

 

“Sorry Mycroft, I don’t mean to disturb,” Greg started, opening the door a bit and stepping into the room.

 

“Nonsense, Gregory, it’s fine,” Mycroft said, looking up. “Is everything alright?”

 

Greg opened his mouth to speak, but the words fell short in his throat as he stared at his husband.  Mycroft was wearing thin, gold-rimmed glasses, and the lenses flashed a bit in the light of the table lamp near him.  Greg had… never seen him wear glasses before. He blinked.

 

“Gregory?” Mycroft repeated, arching his eyebrow curiously.

 

“Sorry,” Greg started, jolting out of his trance. He couldn’t stop staring, though. Mycroft was wearing glasses. They were… Well hell, they were pretty attractive.

 

“Are you just going to stare, darling?” came Mycroft’s voice again, and Greg blinked as he realized that his train of thought had again derailed.  He chuckled in embarrassment.

 

“Sorry.  Just… glasses?” he couldn’t help but ask.  Mycroft shifted in his chair.

 

“Ah, yes,” he sighed, reaching up to take them off. Greg would be lying if he said he wasn’t a bit disappointed.  He was just now getting to admire how they looked on him. “After long days, as of late, I find it helps me avoid a headache.”

 

“They looked nice,” Greg said, walking a bit closer. Mycroft smiled, and glanced down to straighten his stack of papers and move them to the side.

 

“Thank you darling,” he said, glancing at his mobile before sliding it into his pocket. “Apologies for being gone so long. That took a lot longer than I expected.”

 

“It’s alright.  That’s why I came, though.  Your son is no longer considering my presence as acceptable.  He demands his Papa.”

 

Mycroft chuckled and shook his head, finally standing. He turned off the small lamp and put his glasses into their case, before setting the case in the top drawer of his desk.

 

“Ah yes.  Our Oliver is a very assertive young man,” Mycroft said in amusement. “He gets that from you, Gregory.”

 

“No, I believe he gets that from you, actually,” Greg said in return, smirking. “Yeah, definitely from you. His negotiation skills are completely unmatched.”

 

“Well then, perhaps we should get moving,” Mycroft said as he walked over and tilted his head down to press a kiss to Greg’s lips. “Because if that is the case and we take too long, the consequences will be dire.”

 

Greg laughed, and they both made their way back to the sitting room, where Oliver was sitting on one of his blankets and playing with stuffed animals and building blocks.

 

“Papa!” he said forcefully, but he was grinning brightly.  He held up a stuffed umbrella that Greg had bought a few months ago as a gag gift; turned out the little tyke adored it.

 

“I see that Oliver.  Your daddy tells me I was needed?” Mycroft asked in his sweet voice, walking over and crouching next to their son.

 

“Sit,” Oliver commanded, smacking the blanket next to him.  Mycroft blinked, but then nodded and did as he was told.  Greg watched, gazing at the two of them in adoration.

 

“Daddy,” came Oliver’s voice again, obviously demanding his attention as well. “Ooball.”

 

“All right, Ollie,” Greg chuckled, going to turn on the telly.  He flipped through the channels until he found a football game. “Ugh, Manchester.”

 

“Yuck!” Oliver shouted, hitting the blanket again.

 

“Yep, that’s my boy,” Greg beamed proudly. Grinning, he walked over to sit on one side of the sofa, brushing Mycroft’s side with his foot. He kept thinking about those glasses. He really wanted to see the younger man wearing them more.  They looked absolutely fantastic…

 

So maybe he got distracted thinking about them. That is, until Oliver threw the stuffed skull Sherlock had given him.  It hit him in the knee, and he opened his mouth to fuss at their son for throwing things, but the expression on his face made the stern words die off too quickly. It was a problem with him, the fact that he had inherited Greg’s puppy face.  Neither man could resist it.  He could revisit the ‘no throwing’ rule again later, he supposed.


	173. Finally Home

It was finally here; the day Greg had been waiting for impatiently for over a week.  Mycroft had been gone on his god-awful business trip for two months now (when it had only been scheduled for one month at the most).  They’d never been apart this long since they’d gotten involved with one another, and it had been absolutely miserable.  Greg had been working long hours to try and keep his mind off it, and spending as much time as he was able with his two girls to make up for the loneliness he was feeling.

 

The house had been too quiet. He had been miserable. In the two months Mycroft had been away, they were only able to Skype call with each other twice. Both of them had fallen within the first month.  They had texted as much as possible, though with the time difference and Mycroft’s busy schedules, sometimes they were only able to share three or four texts back and fourth.  The limited contact had made it so much worse.

 

That morning, Anthea had called him, informing him that Mycroft was on the plane home.  She had given him the flight itinerary, which gave him the opportunity to drive to the airport and wait for the younger man to land instead of her. Anthea was truly a godsend in female form.  If there had been a way to kiss someone over the phone, he would’ve done it.  She just chuckled humorously, and shortly after, they finished the call.

 

Mycroft was set to land in Heathrow by 3p that afternoon.  Greg put in a half day at work, but he drew the line at 1:30 and left the Yard before anyone could stop him. Going home, he took a quick shower and changed, and then headed across London to the airport.

 

He arrived a good bit earlier than he really needed to, but there was no way he could’ve sat at home or at work and waited any later than he already had.  So, he found a seat near the scheduling board so he could keep an eye on his flight – on time still – and try to relax.

 

Around 3:10, there was a brief announcement over the intercom that the flight he was waiting for had landed. Licking his lips, he basically leaped out of his chair and made his way over closer to the baggage claim, where everyone would be coming out.  He shifted from one foot to the other, looking around anxiously as people began to slowly trickle out and wait for their suitcases.

 

It didn’t take long before he caught sight of the familiar, slightly ginger head of hair that belonged to his partner. He bit his lip and had to keep himself from just shoving through everyone standing between the two of them so he could get to him.  No, he kept himself calm, took a deep breath, and waited.

 

He watched as Mycroft picked up his suitcase and pulled out his mobile.  His pale eyes were glued to the screen, no doubt waiting for a text from Anthea, or whatever driver had originally been set to pick him up.  Feeling a bit giddy now, Greg started to grin. He took a few steps forward and over to the side, and then pulled out his mobile.

 

_Look to your left, handsome.  –GL_

 

It took a few seconds once he’d hit send, but he watched as Mycroft’s mobile lit back up.  The younger man’s face shifted to confusion, and then realization, and then he was lifting his head quickly and turning…

 

Their eyes locked almost instantly. Greg’s heart was pounding in his ears. His grin brightened, and Mycroft’s lips were parted in slight disbelief.  He took a few steps forward, a smile sliding onto his face as well, and Greg watched as his paces got quicker and quicker.

 

In this moment, Greg didn’t give a shit that people surrounded them on all sides.  He didn’t care that their public displays of affection were kept very limited. He couldn’t be arsed. As they distance was finally closed between them, Greg practically flew into Mycroft’s arms and hopped up on his toes to initiate an intense kiss between them.  He wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s neck, and to his pleasant surprise, his partner returned the kiss just as eagerly.

 

They had been apart for what felt like an eternity. The kiss was like having life brought back into Greg.  He whimpered happily, clutching to Mycroft for dear life, and yet the kiss ended all too soon.

 

“Gregory,” Mycroft said, his voice trembling in clear relief and happiness. “I did not expect you here.”

 

“You can thank the best PA in the world,” Greg whispered.  Mycroft chuckled.

 

“Anthea is a smart woman.”

 

“ _Fuck_ , I’ve missed you.” Greg could feel tears brimming in his eyes now. Mycroft leaned forward to press their foreheads together.  Both men closed their eyes.

 

“Then why don’t you take me home,” Mycroft suggested, his grin audible in his voice. “You and I have a lot of catching up to do, my love.”


	174. I Must Tell You

By the time Greg arrived at Mycroft’s place that evening, he felt like he’d been put through the ringer, both physically and mentally. He was emotionally compromised, and work couldn’t take his mind off it.  Not when work had always involved Sherlock before, and now… Now…

 

It didn’t help that his job was at major risk. The whole mess with the kids, and the trouble that Donovan and Anderson had decided to stir up, mixed with Sherlock… _jumping_ … had brought his ethics into question with the Superintendent.  He had always been worried, somewhere in the back of his brain, that this would happen.  He’d always had the suspicion that allowing Sherlock to work his crime scenes would bite him in the ass. He just hadn’t cared. Sherlock was brilliant, he had gotten results, and it all worked out in the end.

 

Not this time.

 

He sought out his boyfriend, who was coping oddly well with his little brother’s suicide.  Granted, they weren’t close, but Greg knew Mycroft still loved him. He found him in his study, bending over papers, and sighed with a tired smile when he looked up at him.

 

“Gregory, are you all right?” Mycroft asked, standing and walking around his desk to approach the older man. Greg frowned a bit, shoulders slumping, and shook his head.  There would be no use in sugar coating his answer anyway, because Mycroft would see right through it.  He always did.

 

Gently, Mycroft placed a hand against the small of Greg’s back, and together they made their way to his kitchen. Then, Mycroft stepped away and started preparing some tea for them.  Greg leaned against the counter, crossing his arms loosely and staring down at his feet.

 

“I know it’s a lot to cope with…” Mycroft started as the water began its boiling process. “Sherlock and…”

 

“Yeah,” Greg sighed, not wanting to let Mycroft finish the sentence.  It was hard enough acknowledging it in his mind, let along out loud, and he couldn’t put Mycroft through it either.  Silence fell between them again, and Mycroft didn’t speak again until they both had fresh, hot tea in their hands.

 

“Gregory, there’s… something I believe I must tell you,” Mycroft started up again, slowly.  There was hesitation there that Greg wasn’t used to, and he glanced up from his steaming drink, blinking.

 

“You don’t have to,” he said immediately, sensing Mycroft’s discomfort. “It’s okay.”

 

“No, I must,” Mycroft sighed. “It might not be the wisest decision, but I cannot bear to see you suffer.  It will be an extremely difficult time for us moving forward if I say nothing.  I would rather us deal with it together, than to shut you out for… lord knows how long this will all take.”

 

Greg blinked, brow furrowing slightly. Mycroft… wasn’t making any sense. He could feel his heart starting to pound in anticipation of something, and he honestly wasn’t sure if he was going to like what he was about to be told or not.

 

“What’s going on, Myc?” he made himself ask anyway. Mycroft looked a bit conflicted, and he took a deep breath and stared down into his tea, before looking up and connecting their gazes.

 

“Sherlock isn’t dead.”

 

Greg blinked.  He opened his mouth to say something, but… He blinked again. He licked his lips and gripped his teacup a little tighter, and then opened his mouth again. Still nothing. _What_?!

 

“He’s…” he tried to start, and he chewed on his bottom lip. “What do you mean, he’s not dead?”

 

Mycroft spent the next few minutes explaining everything.  Greg continued to stare with his mouth open through the entire thing.  Sherlock wasn’t dead.  They faked everything.  Because Moriarty… A fear clenched his heart that he couldn’t control.

 

“I was targeted.”

 

“Yes,” Mycroft nodded gravely. “And Mrs. Hudson. And John.”

 

“ _Jesus Christ_ ,” Greg breathed, turning to grip the counter a bit. He felt dizzy. An arm wrapped around his waist and Mycroft was pressing close.  Neither of them was holding their tea anymore.  When had that happened?

 

“Do forgive me, darling.  No one else could know,” Mycroft whispered, pulling Greg close. He clutched to the taller man because he had no idea what else to do.

 

“Oh god, John-“ he started.

 

“I know, Gregory.  Unfortunately, John cannot be allowed to know. He is being watched more closely, and he will set off red flags much easier than you would.”

 

Greg’s heart hurt for John.  This was awful.  Well, the fact that Sherlock was alive was great, but… it was all so awful.

 

“My job’s in trouble, you know,” he muttered heatedly after a moment. “Thanks to all this mess.”

 

“It won’t be,” Mycroft started. Greg tried not to glare.

 

“What do you mean?” he asked, though he knew exactly what he meant.  The thought of what Mycroft was saying slightly terrified him.

 

“I won’t allow our plan, or Sherlock’s involvement in your cases, to cause this investigation.  I won’t allow you to lose your job because of us, Gregory,” Mycroft said softly.  Greg shook his head.

 

“Look, I knew what I was doing. I dug this grave myself, and I can get myself out of it,” he said stubbornly.  Mycroft frowned.

 

“Darling, please,” he said, cupping Greg’s cheek. “Everything you have done for Sherlock, for me… Please allow me to do this for you.”

 

Greg sighed.  He didn’t like it.  There was a lot about this he didn’t like.  There was also a lot he was still having trouble wrapping his head around.  Defeated, he nodded.

 

“Fine,” he muttered. “Just… can you take me to bed?”

 

“Of course, my love,” Mycroft nodded. He wrapped his arm around Greg’s waist again, and together, they headed up to the younger man’s bedroom and curled into each other.  Greg allowed the comfort of Mycroft’s kisses and touches.  He allowed the slow-burning arousal to take over.  He needed it.

 

This was a lot to deal with, and he would certainly be dealing with it for a while.  But in this moment, he put his trust and his heart in Mycroft’s hands, and he felt with certainty that he would not regret that decision.


	175. Skyping With Elizabeth

Mycroft was sitting in his study when the text arrived. It was unexpected, to be sure, and his brow furrowed curiously as he read the words sent to him from Gregory’s older daughter, Elizabeth.

 

_Skype?_

 

It was a very spur of the moment request, and even more so because Gregory was working a late night at the Yard. Most of their Skype calls with Elizabeth were done together (she was in Glasgow for university so they hadn’t seen her since the summer), so this was definitely a bit more unusual. However, he couldn’t deny such a request from his stepdaughter, so he texted back a quick reply and then booted up his laptop to load the program.

 

It only took a moment before the video call was initiated, the strange ringing tone signaling the request, and both their webcams turned on.  Elizabeth was sitting at her desk in her dorm room, wearing a green tanktop with a robe draped over the back of her chair.  She smiled slightly as they saw each other.

 

“Mycroft, why are you still wearing a suit?” she couldn’t help but grin. “It’s almost 11 at night.”

 

“England never sleeps, my dear,” Mycroft smiled, reclining in his chair. “Your father isn’t home just yet.”

 

“I know,” Elizabeth nodded, fidgeting a bit in her chair.  Mycroft immediately recognized the signs of discomfort on her face, and the hesitation as she was clearly debating something.  It caused him to sit up a bit straighter again.  Something was obviously on her mind, and it seemed to be fairly important.

 

“Something is troubling you,” Mycroft said, in attempt to begin the conversation.  It was clear Elizabeth wanted to talk to him about it, otherwise why would she have Skype called him when he was alone?  Things were starting to make sense, even when he wasn’t sure what this was about yet.

 

“Yeah…” Elizabeth sighed, tugging on a strand of her now longer, dark brown hair and twirling it around her finger a bit. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.  Just you.  Don’t… tell da? Please?”

 

“Of course, Elizabeth,” Mycroft nodded. When Gregory’s children were concerned he felt bad keeping secrets, but depending on what was about to be discussed, he could see how it was important to the young girl. He could not break her trust, even for his own husband.  Unless… “But please understand that, depending on what the situation is, it may prove more beneficial for me to tell Gregory, even if you would not prefer it.”

 

If it had anything to do with her health or well being, he couldn’t keep it from Gregory.  The thought of it made Mycroft feel irrationally terrified; what if she was pregnant.  _Oh dear lord_.  This statement caused a pause from Elizabeth, and she blinked, and then her lips parted in realization.  She waved a hand in front of her face rapidly.

 

“ _No_ , it’s nothing like that,” she said hurriedly. “It’s not like I’ve gone and gotten pregnant or anything.”

 

Mycroft visually exhaled.  Thank goodness.  He didn’t think he would be quite ready to deal with something like that. Elizabeth looked baffled.

 

“You thought I was pregnant?!” she asked incredulously, momentarily sidetracked.  Mycroft shook his head, managing a slight smile.

 

“Anyway,” he said. “What is wrong, darling?”

 

“I’m…” Elizabeth started, taking a shaky breath. Her eyes seemed a bit glossy, with what Mycroft could only assume were possible tears, and she started twirling her hair again nervously. “I’m really struggling in maths. As in, they said I was in danger of losing my scholarship.  Mycroft, I…”

 

She chewed on her bottom lip self-consciously. Mycroft blinked, but he was patient. Surprised, of course. She’d never really struggled in maths before. It had never been her favorite course, he knew, but she’d still done well regardless.  Though university was always on a completely differently level. He folded his hands in his lap and waited silently for her to continue.

 

“I haven’t told mum.  Or da.  I don’t… want to disappoint them.  I was terrified telling you too, because I don’t want to be a disappointment, but…” She trailed off and sighed, sniffing slightly.

 

“You are not a disappointment, Elizabeth,” Mycroft said instantly.  First off, that was the most important thing he needed to get across.  Then: “The learning curve in those kinds of courses is much more dramatic once you reach university.  It is not uncommon to run into an issue such as this. It’s quite all right, my dear.”

 

“I don’t know what to do,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “The semester is half over, and I’m really far down. I’ve been trying, but I just can’t get the concepts to stick.”

 

“Have you discussed it with a fellow classmate? Or your professor?” Mycroft asked. There was a pause.

 

“No…” Elizabeth said softly, shaking her head. Mycroft couldn’t help but chuckle.

 

“You are too much like your father,” he said in amusement. “Elizabeth, dear, I am going to set you up with a tutor.  I have a dear friend who used to be a maths professor there in Glasgow, though I do believe he is technically retired now. He owes me a few favors, I do believe it is time to cash one of those in.”

 

“You don’t have to do that,” Elizabeth said, reluctant to accept the help he was offering.  She was so honorable like that.  He smiled affectionately.

 

“Please allow me to.  He is very proficient, and has incredibly unique teaching methods. I truly believe he will be of help to you, especially in your shorter time table.”

 

Elizabeth smiled brightly, finally nodding.

 

“Thank you, Mycroft,” she said, the worry finally seeping out of her body. “I miss you so much.”

 

“Perhaps we can work out a visit around Christmas, when your classes aren’t meeting,” he proposed. “We miss you as well. I will send my friend your university email, and he should be in touch-“

 

His sentence was cut short prematurely as the door behind Elizabeth opened, and a thin, tall man with bright red hair walked in carrying two Styrofoam cups.  Mycroft blinked, and Elizabeth froze.

 

“Hey babe, I brought coffee-“ he was starting to say in a relatively thick Scottish accent.  He paused as he looked up and noticed that she was on a Skype call. “Oh. I’m sorry, I…”

 

“And who might this be?” Mycroft asked, arching his eyebrow up high.  Elizabeth’s face got bright red and she laughed nervously.

 

“That’s a Skype call for another time I love you Mycroft I miss you thanks so much talk to you in a few days okay byyyyeee!!”

 

_Call Ended._

Mycroft continued glancing at the screen for a moment. Well, that was interesting. The term of endearment… Clearly a romantic attachment.  So Elizabeth had a boyfriend.  One she had neglected thus far to mention to either himself or Gregory.

 

Leaning forward again, he minimized Skype and pulled up another program.  He glanced at his mobile as he started running facial recognition software on the video footage he’d gotten of this boy.  After all, if he was going to date the stepdaughter of Mycroft Holmes, there was nothing that would not be known about him.  That’s just how the British Government worked.


	176. Just An Arrangement

The room was dark, apart from the moonlight trickling in from the window.  There were clothes strung all across the bedroom floor, a dead giveaway of the activities that had taken place.  The only sounds that could be heard were the occasional rustling of bed sheets, and Mycroft’s even breathing that indicated he was fast asleep.

 

Greg was lying next to him, on his side with an arm folded under his head.  For once, he found himself to be wide-awake.  It was rare he was awake after Mycroft, but it gave him the chance to watch the younger man look so peaceful and calm, and it was a gorgeous sight.

 

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. This had gotten messy. It was more than not good. They’d gone into this with the agreement that this was a casual arrangement of sex and companionship, a way for both men to relieve stress and be in the company of a good friend. But it wasn’t so casual anymore, was it? Since when did casual arrangements include sleeping beside one another once the sex was over?

 

“Things are getting messy,” Greg whispered, barely audible, as he watched Mycroft sleep.  He just couldn’t keep these thoughts in his head.  This seemed like the most ideal time to get it out without actually having to have a conversation that would cause him to lose everything he’d come to hold dear.

 

“I know what we set out for this to be… This arrangement.  I know what it is to you.  What it’s supposed to be for me.  I guess that’s the key word here.  What it’s _supposed_ to be.  But it’s… It’s not that anymore.  And I know that should send up a red flag, it really should.  But I’m not ready to let go.”

 

He shifted a bit, causing the duvet to slip down around his waist.  He was still naked, so the fresh air caused a small series of chills to run across his body. He ran his fingers through his hair as he thought to himself, closing his eyes for a moment, and trying to take control of his beating heart.

 

“Sometimes I wonder if it’s really still so casual for you.  But how couldn’t it be? We’re friends, sure, and I feel like we are pretty close.  We respect each other. But I doubt it could ever be more than that.  How could you ever want me for more?  Someone like me… I can’t even compare to you.  You’re brilliant, even more so than Sherlock and at first I didn’t think that was possible… You’re powerful.  You’re posh in all the best ways.  And I’m…”

 

Greg sighed, frowning a bit and shaking his head to himself.  It was pointless to ramble all this off, and it just really made his heart hurt, but he couldn’t stop now that he had started.  He rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling.

 

“I’m nothing compared to any of that. I could never offer you more than what I am now, and for the short time and for a friendship, that might be fine, but how could I keep your interest in the long run?  Especially when it’s clear you have no desire to seek out any kind of relationship.  Which is totally fine.  I just wish it was easier.”

 

He licked his lips and crossed his ankles, throwing an arm over his eyes and shutting them.  He should probably try to go to sleep, but… He couldn’t turn his brain off.

 

“I’m falling in love with you, Mycroft,” he continued to whisper. “I’m in love with you, and when this ends, it’s going to hurt more than anything ever has in my entire life.  Because I can’t have you like that.  You don’t want me like that.  Not where lying here is an every day thing.  Coming home to you, cuddling on the sofa, kissing for hours… Fuck. I love you.”

 

He trailed off, rubbing at his eyes and tugging the duvet up around him again.  It felt good to say it out loud, even if he was still only saying it to himself. He managed a slight smile, closing his eyes.  He needed to get some sleep.

 

Little did he know that Mycroft definitely was not asleep.  The younger man’s heart had practically stopped in his chest as he heard the confession, and once Greg’s breathing became even, he opened his pale eyes and studied his face.

 

This was interesting.  Terrifying.  But… not necessarily one-sided.  This was a casual arrangement, but Mycroft had the feeling that he would need to have some heavy reconsideration.


	177. I'll Always Accept You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hello! As always, thank you all for your amazing and kind words. I love each and every one of you. Secondly, I wanted to let everyone know that I plan on writing a follow-up to Day 176, especially because there are quite a lot of people really wanting it. So that will happen!!
> 
> But this had to happen first. I'm late to the game, but last night I discovered my undying love and adoration to the Winglock AU, so... I had to do this first, omg.

Greg Lestrade had a pretty good life. He’d had some bumps in the road, sure, but things had really started to even out.  He had good friends, a good and secure job as Detective Inspector of the New Scotland Yard, and had an amazing partner.  He had really lucked out with Mycroft Holmes, and he loved that man dearly.

 

There was just one problem.  They’d been dating for a year now, and Greg still had to keep the biggest secret from him.

 

Greg Lestrade had wings.

 

It was something he’d had to hide his entire life, because it was so rare that lord knows what would happen if people found out. He’d bloody well be locked up in Baskerville and submitted to all sorts of experiments.  His mum had them as well, a genetic mutation passed down to him from her side of the family.

 

It was something he’d struggled with as of late. The longer he and Mycroft dated, and the closer they became, the harder it was to keep it from him. He wanted to tell him, but… He didn’t want to lose him.  He had no idea what Mycroft would think about them, and at this point, he hadn’t just let his wings out in so long…

 

He was getting home from a long, grueling day at the Yard one evening, and he just couldn’t stop thinking about it. Frowning, he walked into his bedroom and went over to the full-length mirror he had propped up along the wall. Slowly, he started peeling off layers of clothing, until he stood there in his trousers and the binder wrapped around his chest.  With a sigh, he reached up and unfastened it, letting it fall to the floor as well and allowing his wings to breathe.

 

He watched as they unfolded, feeling both a sigh of relief at their unbinding and a pang of self-consciousness flooding through him. He gazed at them, a mixture of black, light brown, and grey… Once upon a time his wings had been breathtakingly gorgeous.  Vibrant colors and smooth, silky feathers… Only now they were fading with age, just like his hair. Slowly, they curled around him, cocooning himself and he stared down at the floor.  He reached out and gently gripped the edge of one wing, rubbing his thumb back and fourth along the softened, ruffled feathers.

 

He wanted to be proud of them. He wanted to show his biggest feature to the man he loved most.  He didn’t know how much longer he could… He needed to talk to his mum. This was really starting to take its toll on him and he had no idea what to do.

 

It was in this exact moment that a quiet knock on the door started, and then halted preemptively.  Greg froze, eyes widening, and his wings fluffed up and went rigid. No… No, it couldn’t...

 

“G-gregory?” came Mycroft’s voice, quieter than normal and full of shock.  _Oh god_.  No, it wasn’t supposed to happen like this.  No… **NO**.  His heart was pounding in his ears, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe.  This was it. This was the end of it, he was sure. He couldn’t bear to turn around; he couldn’t see the look Mycroft surely had on his face…

 

“Gregory,” came Mycroft’s voice again. It was less of a question this time. Greg shuddered and wrapped his wings back around himself tightly.

 

“Please Myc,” he said, voice shaking. “Just…. Don’t… Don’t say anything, okay?  Please…. I couldn’t… Just…”

 

  1.   Greg shut his eyes, fighting back tears.  So there he was.  Mycroft had found out about them, and he was gone.  This was it. He clenched a fist, shaking, trying to keep himself together… and there was a hand on his shoulder. He jumped, finally spinning around, wings fluffing up again.  With wide eyes, he stared up at his partner, who was looking at him with an unreadable expression.  Greg noticed how he purposefully avoided touching his wings.



 

“I…”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mycroft asked, whispering. His brow furrowed curiously, and his pale eyes drifted up and to the side, clearly taking in the sight of them.

 

“How could I?” Greg asked, feeling helpless and terrified.  Much more of this and he’d start molting for sure.

 

Mycroft was still staring at them. Greg’s chest constricted painfully. He just wished he would leave. Or say something. Or… _Christ_. He couldn’t take this anymore. He opened his mouth to say something, but Mycroft beat him to it.

 

“May I…touch them?”

 

Greg blinked.  That was not at all what he expected Mycroft to say.  He stared up at him and blinked again.  His wings fluttered nervously.

 

“W-what?” he asked, really needing clarification on that.

 

“I’d like to… If you’d have me…”

 

Mycroft seemed just as nervous as Greg was. He blinked again, and chewed on his bottom lip nervously.  Finally, he nodded.

 

“Yeah, sure…” he mumbled.  Running a hand through his hair nervously, he extended them again and brought one of them forward, wrapping it around him slightly so that it was between them both.  Mycroft reached out hesitantly, and then stroked a few of the feathers with his slender fingers. Greg couldn’t help but sigh. It actually felt really good.

 

“How did I not know?” Mycroft asked in a hushed tone, seemingly fascinated.  Greg sighed again, and his wing trembled as Mycroft continued to stroke along the length of it.

 

“I’ve spent my life hiding them, so it… it’s kind of easy to do,” Greg shrugged with a sigh.

 

“You’ve kept them from me this whole time,” Mycroft said, looking over the wing to gaze into Greg’s face.  He sighed and let his shoulders slump a bit.

 

“And it’s killed me,” he admitted. “I wanted to tell you, but I… I don’t know.  How could I know how you’d react?”

 

“My love, they are a part of you. What kind of partner would I be if I did not accept it along with everything else?” he asked, continuing to stroke the wing.  Greg looked up at Mycroft in disbelief, eyes wide and brimming with tears.

 

“You mean…?” he started, but the words choked in his throat.

 

“Of course,” Mycroft nodded.  He reached out with the hand not exploring his feathers so he could cup Greg’s cheek. “Now please.  I would really like to know more about this beautiful wings of yours, darling.”

 

Greg felt his heart soar.  He wasn’t leaving.  He wasn’t calling him names or hauling him off to somewhere to experiment on him. This was actually happening. It took every part of him not to start crying with relief, and before he could control himself, he was leaping into Mycroft’s arms and burying his face in his neck.  He wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s torso tightly, wings shifting and extending before wrapping around him as well.  Mycroft froze for a second, but then just chuckled and kissed the top of his head.

 

It was all so perfect.


	178. The Start of Something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the companion piece to Day 176, you guys. <3

Mycroft woke early the following morning. He sat in bed and stared at the sleeping man next to him.  When had things turned out this way?  When had this casual arrangement slipped into so much more?  He couldn’t quite pinpoint it.  He had been the one to propose the arrangement to begin with. He didn’t want a relationship. He trusted Gregory, of course, or he had never wanted to begin anything like this, but…

 

When had that trust turned into this much more?

 

Then last night, while Gregory thought he was asleep, he went and said all those things.  Gregory Lestrade was falling in love with him.  Sighing through his long, pointed nose, Mycroft reached over and brushed a bit of silvery hair off of the older man’s forehead. He watched as his face shifted from the touch, contorting in his sleep.  He sighed and curled a bit more into the pillow, but never woke.

 

Mycroft wanted to believe that his first mistake was letting Gregory stay the night after a very intense bit of intercourse, but… He couldn’t truly believe that was the beginning.  It was the turning point, however.  There was something about the sex they’d had that night that had Mycroft asking him to stay.  It wasn’t just sex, and it wasn’t just both of them achieving orgasm. There was something more that night.

 

It was something that had stayed ever since. So Gregory slept over more frequently. Not every time, of course, but enough. Enough that the older man didn’t really need to ask anymore before he did.  Without words, they ended up agreeing, and there they were.

 

Gregory loved him.  Mycroft truly felt like he loved him back.

 

He sighed, leaning back against the headboard and shutting his eyes.  Everything was different now.  He hadn’t wanted a relationship, but the more he thought about it, the more he could see Gregory fitting into his life like that.  He’d never thought about things like that before, like the two of them sharing a bed every night.  The closet being populated with more than just Mycroft’s suits.  Another toothbrush and set of shampoo in the shower.  He could… envision that.  It disturbed him.

 

Lost in thought, he remained sitting like that for the next hour.  The sun started to rise, causing warm colors to seep in through the curtains.  The oranges and yellows fell across the bedroom, lighting up Gregory’s face and causing him to stir.  Mycroft continued to watch.  How could a man be so breathtakingly gorgeous?

 

He couldn’t pull his eyes away, and shortly after they were staring into a warm, sleepy pair of brown.  Gregory smiled lazily and yawned, stretching a bit. Mycroft watched as the duvet slipped down his bare torso slightly, showing off the curve of his hip. It sent a wave of desire though him, pooling deep in his gut and causing things to stir inside of him.

 

“G’morning…” Gregory mumbled, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand.  He shifted in the bed, pushing up on his elbow a bit.  The duvet fell down more.  Mycroft could see his hipbone now.  He found he wanted to taste it.

 

“Mycroft?”

 

The rough, sleepy voice jerked Mycroft out of his thoughts.  It didn’t, however, do it quickly enough to prevent his arousal from having physical evidence. Naturally, Gregory noticed, and he grinned.

 

“Lost in thought?” he asked suggestively.

 

“You make it difficult,” Mycroft mumbled, finally looking back up at his face.  Gregory blinked in confusion.

 

“Make what difficult?” the older man asked, tilting his head a bit.

 

“All of this.  The arrangement,” Mycroft was saying before he could stop himself. “I want you all the time, Gregory.”

 

“Mycroft?” Gregory asked again.

 

“I heard you last night…” he whispered. The words caused the man sitting next to him to freeze.  Gregory’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

 

“I…” he started trying to say, but Mycroft didn’t let him finish.  He turned quickly in the bed and leaned close, capturing Gregory’s mouth in a passionate kiss. He did it before he could stop himself. It was too late for all that now. He knew, reflecting on those words. He knew, watching the man wake up. He knew in the way his gut felt, and in the way he wanted him all the time.

 

He sucked on Gregory’s bottom lip and made the man groan. The duvet was getting pushed away and Mycroft was climbing onto his lap.  Both of them were naked (which was rare because Mycroft _never_ slept in the nude), and as he pressed close, discovered that both of them were also hard.

 

“Mycroft,” Gregory gasped into his mouth as their erections rubbed against each other.  Mycroft gripped that silvery hair, finally breaking the kiss and staring down at him.

 

“We have much to talk about,” he muttered softly.

 

“Y-yeah, we do,” Gregory nodded, panting slightly. He licked his bottom lip and Mycroft stared.  Huffing, he rocked his hips, rubbing up against Gregory again and causing him to moan.

 

“After?” Gregory asked, voice shaking as he tried to control himself.

 

“Yes,” Mycroft nodded, voice barely above a whisper. Yes, Mycroft had reflected on the turning point in their arrangement.  This… this was the beginning of something.  He found himself terrified for the first time in a long time, but also really excited.

 

This was what he wanted.  He wanted more, he wanted all of this.  _Oh god._ He trusted this man with his heart. It was terrifying, and it was thrilling.


	179. First Visit to 221B

“Why exactly do we have to do this?” Mycroft was asking, arching his eyebrows curiously.  In his lap, Oliver was turning his head (and wobbling every time because he was still too young to have a handle on his center of gravity), to stare out at everything they were passing as they drove.  Greg chuckled, shaking his head, and crossed his arms loosely.

 

“Because he is still your brother, even if the two of you don’t get on,” he said, watching their four-month-old leaning back into his father’s chest and grunting, obviously becoming bored with the car ride. He kicked his feet a bit, squirming in Mycroft’s grip, and earning a slightly stern look from the man. Smiling, Greg reached over to the diaper bag they’d put together and pulled out his stuffed cat. He handed it over, and Oliver grinned brightly before snatching it and hugging it tightly.

 

“I don’t know if I’m quite ready to expose our child to whatever unsanitary conditions are within the walls of 221B,” Mycroft huffed.

 

“He’ll be fine,” Greg laughed, eyes shining. “Come on, you know we’ll have to get them to babysit eventually. May as well start getting him acclimated to the place.”

 

“Sherlock will not babysit,” Mycroft pointed out, looking shocked and amused by the absurd idea.  Greg really had to agree.

  
“Well yes, but John will,” he commented.  That earned a hum from the younger man.

 

Soon enough, they arrived at Baker Street, and had pulled up to the curb outside of Sherlock and John’s flat. Greg had been meaning for them to come over with Oliver for a while, but work schedules had failed to line up properly for a while.  He’d also had to give John enough notice to make sure that the flat would be as baby-proof as possible. 

 

Greg slung the diaper bag over his shoulder, and Mycroft carried Oliver in his arms, and together they made their way up the steps.

 

“Hey guys!” John greeted brightly, waving them into the sitting room.  It had been cleared off rather nicely, which was good, and Greg set the bag down on the table while Mycroft crouched down on the floor and set Oliver down. The child had gotten pretty good at sitting upright on his own now, and he did, gazing around with wide brown eyes at this new place they were at.

 

The visit went extremely well, considering. Sherlock was being a prat, as usual, and he irritated Mycroft much like he always did.  John threw some football on the telly for background noise and made normal, casual conversation with Greg about their usual things. The two of them had joined Oliver on the floor, where he was babbling away in his baby language and apparently telling John some very important things.

 

“Greg, he’s just so beautiful,” John said, eyes shining affectionately as he wiggling one of Oliver’s hands gently. The act earned him a bright giggle. Greg grinned proudly.

 

“Yeah, he sure is,” he agreed.

 

“Really takes after you,” John continued. “Though he’s definitely got the making of a Holmes nose, right there.”

 

To stress that point, he tapped the end of Oliver’s small nose.  This caused the child to freeze, apparently having not expected that at all.  Both John and Greg chuckled softly.

 

Sherlock was sitting in his chair while Mycroft occupied John’s, both watching this going on.  Mycroft couldn’t help his own affectionate smile at the sight. His _family_.

 

“Mycroft, your child is an idiot,” Sherlock said, rolling his eyes.  Mycroft glared, opening his mouth to snap at him, but before he had the chance to say anything, a stuffed cat was flying across the sitting room and hitting the younger Holmes brother square in the chest.  Clearly startled, Sherlock blinked and stared with wide eyes.  Oliver started babbling again full speed.

 

“I beg to differ,” Mycroft countered, laughing brightly. “I don’t believe Oliver took kindly to that, brother mine.”

 

“Indeed.” Sherlock picked up the cat and regarded his infant nephew intently.  Then, for a fraction of a second, he quirked a smile of his own.  Mycroft didn’t miss it, however.  It warmed his chest, as shocked as he was seeing it.

 

“Stop insulting your nephew,” John scolded, glaring at his flatmate and partner.  Sherlock huffed.

 

“Fine.  Oliver, my apologies.”

 

Oliver just continued to babble.


	180. First Birthday

“Happy birthday to you!  Happy birthday to you!  Happy birthday dear Ollieeeeeeeee.  Happy birthday to you!”

 

Everyone was singing.  Well, everyone except for Sherlock.  No one really expected Sherlock to sing, though. Oliver was sitting in his highchair, a small cake with a giant number 1 candle lit that he was staring at in fascination.  The cake was courtesy of Mrs. Hudson, so everyone _knew_ it would be delicious, and there was a full household there to celebrate. John and Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson, Elizabeth and Abby, Sally, and Anthea (who wasn’t currently in the room, as she’d had to take a phone call).

 

Greg was standing behind Oliver’s high chair, his hands resting on its back, while Mycroft stood in front. Smiling, the older man leaned down and kissed the top of his son’s head.

 

“We need to blow the candle out now,” he said as Oliver turned to blink at him. “Wanna help me?”

 

Greg pointed forward again and leaned down more so that his face was level with his son’s.  He drew in an audible breath and blew gently, while Oliver watched and attempted to mimic.  It took Greg to blow the candle out, but the act was amazing regardless.  Mrs. Hudson had snapped a photo. 

 

“Good job Ollie,” Greg beamed as all the girls in the room cheered and clapped.  Oliver clapped too, giggling brightly, and babbled away in a language all his own as he pointed at the cake.

 

“Yes, let Mrs. Hudson cut you a piece, okay?” Greg laughed, nodding in thanks as the woman in question picked the cake back up and took over to the counter to start cutting slices.  Greg turned and smiled at Mycroft.

 

“Our son has quite a few presents,” the younger man observed, looking at the almost comical mound of wrapped gifts sitting on a nearby table.  Greg chuckled.

 

“Yes, well, he’s irresistible,” he winked. “Besides, it’s his first birthday!  It’s normal for people to go a bit overboard.”

 

“You went a bit overboard, didn’t you, husband mine?” Mycroft asked, a knowing twinkle in his eye.  Greg shrugged.

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Here’s cake for the birthday boy!” Mrs. Hudson announced, bringing a paper plate back into the room with a small slice cut. She set it down in front of Oliver, along with a plastic fork, and then went back to start slicing pieces for everyone else.

 

Mycroft crouched down, picking up the fork and gently helping Oliver to hold it correctly.  He stared for a moment before completely losing interest and dropping it. Then, in true baby fashion, he reached out with his tiny hand and grabbed a fistful of cake. Greg was crouching down now as well, just in time for Oliver to reach out and press cake into both his fathers’ faces.

 

Up until this moment, there was quiet conversation to be had amongst everyone in the room, even though for the most part their attention was set on Oliver.  When this happened, though, everyone went quiet with shock.  This kind of thing was not uncommon for a baby, of course, but… it was the fact that Mycroft Holmes just had cake shoved in his face. Mycroft, who was frozen and blinking, had cake smeared on his face.

 

Deep, rumbling peals of laughter could soon be heard, as Sherlock burst out into the most amused giggles never heard before by anyone other than John, pretty much.  Mycroft started to glare daggers at his younger brother. Daggers that, after a moment, were directed towards his husband as Greg burst out laughing as well. Oliver laughed also, because his daddy was laughing so it had to be funny.

 

“Gregory,” Mycroft muttered.

 

“Aww, it’s cute.  Just be thankful I didn’t do that on our wedding day, yeah?” Greg grinned, wiping icing off his own cheek and licking it off his finger. Then, he leaned in and licked it off Mycroft’s face as well.  The younger man pulled out a handkerchief to wipe off the excess, and Oliver turned his attention back to making a mess of what was left of his slice (shoving it in his own face now).

 

Half an hour later, everyone had enjoyed a piece of cake.  Even both Holmes brothers had some.  Presents were next, and wrapping paper was all over the living room by the time they were all open. Then, after a bit more socializing and picture taking, people began to say their farewells and head home. Finally, the Lestrade-Holmes household was theirs once again.

 

Oliver was sitting on the floor, playing with periodic table building blocks Sherlock had bought.

 

“How does a child get cake in his hair?” Mycroft asked, slumped over on the sofa.  Greg was reclined beside him, watching their son with a soft smile. Abby and Elizabeth were curled up together in a chair beside the tv, both taking a nap.

 

“It’s their magic power,” Greg mumbled, sliding an arm around Mycroft’s shoulders.  He turned to kiss his temple.  Mycroft hummed at the action.

 

“Our son is a whole year old,” he commented with a happy smile. 

 

“He sure is,” Greg chuckled. “And he had a very successful birthday party, I think.”

 

Mycroft nodded, watching as Oliver drove one of his big trucks into the block structure he’d built.  He listened to the babbling and giggles, and then Oliver was crawling across the floor to reach some stuffed animals and a few more toys to get into.  He turned to gaze up into Greg’s brown eyes, heart pounding, and they both smiled.

 

“Yeah,” Greg whispered, even though Mycroft hadn’t said anything. “I’m proud too.”


	181. Getting You To Sleep

“Mycroft, darling, you need to sleep,” Greg said with a yawn, glancing at the clock.  It was almost 2 in the morning, and Mycroft was still wide-awake, sitting on his laptop.  The older man rubbed his eyes as he gazed at him, having just woken from a doze.

 

“I am fine, darling.  Go back to sleep,” Mycroft said without looking up from the screen. Greg gazed over, watching where he was sitting at the desk across the room, and sighed.

 

“You’ve been up for two days straight,” he said instead of listening, sitting up a bit straighter in bed. “I thought you said all that stuff was finally over with.”

 

“It is,” Mycroft nodded, still typing away. Frowning, Greg slid out of bed and wandered over, rubbing at the back of his head slowly.  He approached his partner from behind and leaned forward, draping his arms around his shoulders and pressing his chest into his back. Turning his head, he pressed a kiss to Mycroft’s temple, not paying attention to whatever was on the computer screen.

 

“Then whatever you’re doing isn’t important,” he whispered. “So come to bed.”

 

Greg could feel Mycroft’s shoulders lower, tension seeping out of them a bit.  The younger man sighed, sinking back into his chair a little bit and leaning his head against Greg’s shoulder.

 

“I cannot sleep,” he admitted finally, frowning. Greg watched his face shift this way and that, lips parting again and closing again for a moment before he finally continued speaking. “I’m not tired in the least. So I may as well be productive and sort out some things I won’t need to worry about later.”

 

Shaking his head, Greg straightened himself and then tugged on Mycroft’s shirt gently.

 

“Get up,” he requested affectionately. “Come with me.”

 

Mycroft hesitated, but wasn’t given much of a chance as Greg threaded their fingers together and tugged the younger man away from the desk and over to their bed.  Mycroft arched an eyebrow, but allowed himself to be led and gently pushed down. Greg sat down next to him and turned close, slowly unbuttoning his pajama top.

 

“Gregory-“ Mycroft started, as if to protest, but the older man just shook his head.

 

“Just let me do this,” he whispered, pushing the shirt off him and stroking his bare, freckled shoulders. “Lie down on your stomach.”

 

Mycroft blinked, obviously unsure where this was going. He nodded and did so, however, settling down on his side of the bed and pressing his cheek into the pillow. He closed his eyes as he felt the mattress shift under Greg’s weight, and then he was getting straddled slightly.

 

Leaning forward, Greg settled his hands onto Mycroft’s shoulder blades and began rubbing slowly.  Mycroft blinked his eyes open again, slightly shocked. He’d been unsure what he was expecting, but it hadn’t been that.  He sighed as Greg’s thumbs began moving in small circles along his muscles, and his eyes fluttered shut again.

 

“Gregory…” he sighed with a soft groan.

 

“Feels good?” Greg asked with a soft smile. Mycroft hummed his response, which made Greg grin. “Good.  Just relax, Myc.”

 

He continued the massage, listening for the soft sounds of contentment when he hit a particularly tensed up muscle. It was here that he would work a little longer, making sure to get out every knot he came across. No wonder Mycroft couldn’t sleep. It was a wonder his back wasn’t actually hurting him or anything.  Greg was extremely grateful he’d been given proper masseuse lessons when he was a bit younger, because it was times like this where it really came into play.

 

As he made his way lower down Mycroft back, Greg leaned in to start kissing his back.  This made Mycroft hum again, though the sound was a bit deeper than it had been before.  Greg smirked against his skin.  Yep, this was working like a charm.

 

It took about twenty minutes or so, but there was a shift in the way Mycroft’s body was resting.  Greg slowed his motions, pausing for a moment and just listening. Sure enough, the younger man’s breathing had evened out.  He peered up to see his partner’s face had gone slack with sleep.  It was exactly what Greg had wanted to happen. Good.

 

Slowly, so slowly, he climbed off and walked around to turn off the lights in the bedroom.  Then, he slipped in beside the other man and curled up close under the duvet. Luckily, Mycroft didn’t stir. It just showed how exhausted he really was.  Greg sighed, staring at his face for a few moments, before letting his eyes close and falling asleep as well.


	182. Coming For A Visit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teen AU
> 
> This one is a callback all the way to Day 68. A review I happened to get from Sherlock's_left_nipple had me thinking about that storyline again, and I'd been wanting to do some more teen!strade, sooooooo here we are! :D

Greg never could get used to Eton. He felt like he wasn’t even smart enough to be wandering onto the grounds, let alone hanging out with one of their top students.  That top student, however, also happened to be his boyfriend, and he was pretty damn proud. Besides, it never took long before he was feeling more comfortable.  The minute where his eyes would find Mycroft’s face in the middle of the grounds, he would light up in a bright smile and his heart would pound excitedly.

 

They didn’t get to see each other much as of late. Mycroft had been extremely busy with classes, taking a very full load.  While the younger teen was acing everything, studying and projects and papers did take up a good majority of his time.  Greg had begun keeping his younger brother Sherlock company, being that they were both left behind without him, and while the little twerp hardly acknowledged it, Greg knew he appreciated his presence.

 

It was weekends like this, however, that Greg felt blissful.  The times where he was finally able to make his way up here and stay the weekend with Mycroft were brilliant.  Mycroft would show him around Eton, taking him to all the small, quiet spots he liked to study. They would usually end up doing a lot more making out than studying in these places.  Neither boy complained.

 

He got to experience one of the more popular cafes nearby for lunch each day, and he was a big fan of their coffee. He loved the place.

 

“I wish I didn’t have to leave tomorrow,” he sighed, curled up with Mycroft in his bed on their final evening together. Mycroft’s roommate was gone for the weekend, giving them complete privacy, which had been one of the things driving the trip.  He curled into Mycroft’s side a bit more, breathing him in and closing his eyes.

 

“I long for more time as well,” Mycroft mumbled, stroking dark hair slowly.  Greg hooked their legs together, frowning slightly, and basically clutching the other teen. “But I cannot thank you enough for deciding to make the trip up and spend the weekend with me.”

 

“I would every weekend if I could, Myc,” Greg sighed. “I miss you so much.”

 

“I will be coming home for winter break,” the younger teen said.  Greg blinked and lifted his head.

 

“Really?” he asked, heart pounding. The last time they’d talked about winter break, it had sounded like Mycroft was going to choose to remain here at Eton to get some things done before the following semester. He was rewarded with a bright smile that made his heart skip a beat.

 

“Yes,” Mycroft confirmed with a nod and a soft smile. “I would like to see Sherlock.  I also find myself wanting more to be in your company for the holidays than here. In determining the amount of work I was planning to get done, it was decidedly not worth the further separation.”

 

A small lump in his throat kept Greg from properly responding, so instead all he could do was lean down and kiss the other teen passionately.  Slender arms were wrapping around his neck and pulling him close.  Hands began to wander and explore, and their kisses and touches soon became a lot more needy, because they missed each other so much and they needed this connection, needed this closeness between them. Neither boy quite knew how else to make the distance sufferable if they did not maximize on these opportunities when they presented themselves.

 

Greg considered it a victory if Mycroft’s moans happened to reach any of the surrounding rooms.

 

The following morning was excruciating for them both. Greg had to leave; he had to go back home and away from Mycroft.  Neither one of them could force themselves to get up and get going, though they finally did. Mycroft blinked as Greg noticed the hoodie he’d left last time and picked it up.

 

“I wondered where this had gone to,” he muttered, folding it up.  Turning, he noticed the longing look on Mycroft’s face. “What’s up?”

 

“You can… leave it if you like…” Mycroft muttered, glancing down at the floor.  Being that it was the hoodie the younger teen often slept in when he was missing Greg dearly, there was a hesitation for it to go.  Greg smiled affectionately.

 

“I’ll do you one better,” he said, setting his things down.  Mycroft blinked as he watched Greg tug off the hoodie he was currently wearing. “Keep this one. Smells more like me anyway, yeah?”

 

Mycroft smiled brightly, accepting the hoodie and nodding.

 

“Thank you Gregory,” he beamed. Greg joined him, before cupping his cheek and kissing him sweetly.

 

“See you soon,” he whispered against his lips. “And we’ll talk tonight?”

 

“Of course,” Mycroft nodded, and they kissed until they practically had to force themselves to pull away.

 

The goodbyes were always the hardest part.


	183. He Really Does

The flat had grown quiet; a lot quieter than it had been throughout the day.  Greg didn’t mind, though.  It was the perfect kind of chaos and he loved it.  He missed it. Having his two daughters in his life were all that he could ask for, and he only wished that he was able to have more time with them.  He hoped the terms of custody could change before too long.  He didn’t see enough of them.

 

Abby, his younger, was completely passed out in his big reclining chair.  It was her favorite piece of furniture and she hardly left it when they were visiting. His older, Elizabeth, was stretched out along his sofa, playing some kind of game on the tablet Greg had been able to save up and buy for her for her birthday a few months back.

 

Greg was half-watching the football match Abby had put on the telly before passing out, though he was mostly paying attention to the quiet mobile sitting in his hand.  He didn’t have anything pressing at work that he needed to be on the lookout for, of course.  No, it was nothing like that.  He knew that Mycroft would be settling in for the night sometime soon, and he was hoping to hear from him.

 

His heart practically leaped up in his throat when his mobile finally chimed ten minutes later.

 

_I trust the visit with your daughters is going well?  -MH_

Greg couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he opened the text thread and began to type out a reply.

 

_Brilliant. It’s good to see them. Good day?  -GL_

_As well as could be expected.  I am glad you’re getting to spend time with them.  –MH_

_  
I am too.  Wish you were here, though.  –GL_

_I couldn’t possibly intrude upon this time you have with them.  It’s too important.  –MH_

_Yeah, but I really want you to meet them  -GL_

A soft chuckle pulled Greg’s attention back to his sitting room.  Blinking, he glanced up to see Elizabeth staring at him and grinning.

 

“What’s so funny?” he asked, raising his eyebrows and lowering his mobile.

 

“You are,” she giggled. “I’ve never seen you pay that much attention to your mobile before.  Is that your boyfriend?”

 

Greg nodded.  He’d told them both about Mycroft, of course.  Mostly, he’d just let them know that he was actually dating someone.  No, he wasn’t lonely, and yes, he’d moved on from his divorce with their mum.  Yes, it was a bloke, and of course he was treating him right. That had been about the extent of the conversation, and both girls had seemed satisfied with it. Greg had been, too. He’d been ridiculously nervous telling them about Mycroft for whatever reason.  With that out of the way, he wanted to introduce everyone to each other. They were all the most important pieces in his life, and it’s what he wanted…

 

“You really care about him,” Elizabeth commented, and Greg felt his face flush.  Yeah, he really did.

 

“Sure do,” he said, glancing at the new message he’d just received.

 

_Are you certain? -MH_

“He must be pretty amazing, then,” his daughter was saying as she set her tablet aside.  She propped her head up in one hand and watched him with a sweet smile.

 

“He is,” Greg grinned, feeling proud. “He’s the smartest man I know, and very formal and polite.  Tends to keep his distance, but if you know him, he’s also one of the sweetest men you’ll ever meet.  He cares, more than he ever lets on, and he just…”

 

He trailed off, heart pounding slightly. Mycroft was just amazing. He bloody loved the man.

 

“I really hope we can meet him soon,” Elizabeth said with a bright grin. “For him to mean so much to you, I want to know him.”

 

“I do too, Lizzie,” Greg smiled. “Hopefully he can get some time off work next time you guys are visiting and we can arrange something.”

 

“I’d really like that,” Elizabeth nodded, before picking up her tablet again.  They both settled back in, though Greg made a mental note to wrap things up and get his youngest in an actual bed for the night.

 

He looked at the most recent text again, reading Mycroft’s words over and over again.  He smiled to himself, before typing out his reply.

 

_There aren’t many things I’ve been more certain about in my life.  -GL_


	184. Sunsets

Greg loved everything that he and Mycroft did together. There wasn’t anything they could get up to that he didn’t enjoy immensely.  It was the beauty of their relationship, and the fact that they were just so in love.  Just being in his presence was enough to bring a smile to the older man’s face, and make him feel downright blissful.

 

It was evenings like this, however, that he always seemed to treasure the most.  It was an evening where neither man had to stay and work late.  Greg had turned his mobile completely off, and Mycroft silenced his, with only calls through a specific line that could be made by Anthea would sound off.  Of course, the politician was too important to go completely dark like Greg could, but it was the next best thing.  He knew Anthea would only contact him via that line in the most dire of circumstances, so because of that, they had been left in peace.

 

They made a simple dinner, both of them cooking parts of it, and they moved around the kitchen flawlessly with each other. They grabbed at each other and kissed, and laughed together.  Greg adored Mycroft’s laugh.  It was a rare sight, but it was something that he could always pull out of the other man. To see him smile and laugh brightly, unrestrained by the control he normally had set, was brilliant.

 

They had dessert, and then together they went out onto their balcony.  They had a small bit of furniture out on there; a round table that they decided to carry out glasses and a bottle of chilled red wine, and a long chaise lounge chair that had an amazingly comfortable cushion on it.  Greg climbed onto it and beckoned the younger man over. With a smile, Mycroft joined him, settling in between his legs and leaning back against his chest. Mycroft might be the taller of the two, but they normally always cuddled like this anyway.

 

Wine was poured, and Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s torso as they sipped it calmly.  Silence fell between them, both gazing out at the sunset that was starting and sighing softly.  Mycroft was stroking Greg’s knee with his free hand, and Greg pressed his cheek against the top of his head and hugged him close.

 

“This is so beautiful,” Greg sighed as he gazed out at the setting sun.  The sky was full of oranges and reds, as the top began to get into the dark blues and purples of night.  He had a feeling they’d be able to see the stars tonight. “I can’t remember the last time I just sat and watched a sunset.”

 

“Indeed,” Mycroft hummed, taking a sip of his wine and leaning back against Greg’s shoulder. “It can truly be a miraculous sight, sometimes.  I believe that I forget that.  I am glad I have you to help take the time to remind me.”

 

“I’m the glad one,” Greg smiled, feeling his face flush at the compliment he’d just been given.  He glanced down into his wine for a moment, feeling his heart flutter. Mycroft was not a commonly sentimental man, so for them to share moments like this and for him to say such sweet things never failed to make him feel ridiculous and almost dizzy with affection.

 

“What we’re witnessing is known as scattering,” Mycroft said after a few more minutes of silence.  Greg was having them both sit up a bit so he could refill their empty glasses, and he glanced over at the younger man as he poured.

 

“Oh yeah?” he asked, handing Mycroft his glass.  

 

“Thank you,” Mycroft nodded, taking a sip before continuing. “Yes.  Molecules in the atmosphere cause the change in the light’s rays, which is where we get the different colorations based on how high the sun remains in the sky.”

 

Greg settled back quietly, listening. He really loved when Mycroft just randomly started talking about things like this.  The man was so intelligent, even more so than Sherlock (he’d quickly come to learn this when they started working together, long before their relationship existed), but unlike his younger brother he didn’t parade around with it to prove he was so clever.  It was always much more spur of the moment, and it was fun.

 

“Because the sun is lower in the sky now, its sunlight is having to pass through much more air than when its higher up during the day,” Mycroft continued. “You see, the shorter wavelengths in the sky are what most commonly produce the blues and violets that we would normally see, which is why the sky is always blue, weather permitting.”

 

“What about the violet?” Greg asked softly, nuzzling into Mycroft’s hair.

 

“Our eyes cannot easily see the violets, so the blue always takes precedence.”

 

“So the colors we’re seeing now…” the older man prompted, rather fascinated by what was being explained to him.

 

“Indeed,” Mycroft nodded. “As I mentioned, sunlight is passing through more of the atmosphere now that it’s so close to the horizon.  You are seeing effects of longer wavelengths, and more molecules that are actually scattering those blues and violets.  They’re long enough that these colors are actually getting scattered away from our eyesight, but it allows other colors to actually reach our eyes.  Hence, why we are currently seeing these oranges and yellows, and finally the reds.”

 

Greg reached out and threaded their fingers together. He smiled; it really was fascinating. Setting his wine glass down, he reached under Mycroft’s chin with his other hand and tilted his head back so he could kiss him sweetly.

 

“Thank you for sharing that with me,” he whispered against the younger man’s lips, tasting the sweetness of the wine on his tongue. Mycroft smiled.

 

“You found it interesting?” Mycroft asked, arching an eyebrow in surprise.

 

“I find everything you talk about interesting,” Greg replied.  Mycroft sat up some and turned so that they were facing each other.  Reaching out with a playful grin, Greg gently grabbed into his tie and tugged him in for a _much_ better kiss.


	185. Dieting Together

Mycroft was dieting again. 

 

He went through phases on time where he felt it was a necessary decision, and while he would never admit it, Sherlock’s most recent scathing remarks weren’t much assistance in making him decide otherwise.

 

His dear Gregory was always very supportive in his decision, even though the older man made it quite clear he didn’t need to do something like diet.  He was never cruel about it, always expressing that thought with affection and kindness and kisses, but it did little to change Mycroft’s mind.  It rarely did.

 

This time, however, Gregory decided to do something different.  Instead of say anything against it, the older man decided he was going to diet with him. Mycroft had to pause at the thought of it, because it was a genuinely amazing, supportive thing for him to do. Mycroft had never doubted Gregory’s support in everything, of course, but there was something big about that decision. There shouldn’t be, not really, but… there was.

 

They changed up their dinner routine together. Gregory continued to cook, but Mycroft noticed how in his free time, he was researching new recipes that were immensely healthier options.  They also worked in slightly smaller portions.  It was a slight adjustment period, but he did so well and Mycroft was immensely appreciative. 

 

The change in diet was definitely an adjustment for the older man as well.  He remained quiet about it, but Mycroft could tell anyway.  He always could.  Gregory seemed to have food on the mind more frequently than he used to, and while he never complained or made a big deal out of it, his stomach was clearly not used to the differences.  Mycroft could tell that he was hungrier more of the time now.

 

“You don’t have to stick with this diet with me, dearest heart,” he said one night as they were lying on the sofa.

 

“Nope,” Gregory said, shaking his head. “I said I would with you, and I mean it.  I’m fine, Myc, I promise.”

 

Mycroft smiled, turning in Gregory’s arms and pressing a kiss to his collarbone.  The older man’s arms tightened around him in a hug, and he hummed and closed his eyes. Gregory was a stubborn man, and an honourable one, and Mycroft loved him so.

 

Later that evening, Mycroft found himself waking to an empty bed.  He blinked sleepily and glanced around, trying to locate his husband.  The connected washroom did not have its light on, so he wasn’t there… His mobile was still plugged in and charging so he clearly hadn’t been called into the Yard for a case.  So where had he gone?

 

Rubbing his eyes, Mycroft stifled a yawn and slipped out of bed.  He pulled on his dark red robe and tied it around his waist, before shuffling out of the bedroom. Gregory had to be around here somewhere. After a few moments of wandering, he noticed the kitchen light on.  Ah, there he was.  What was he doing in the kitchen?  Curiously, he made his way down there, running a hand though his hair.

 

The sight he walked in on was Gregory sitting at their table, leaning over, with a spoon in his hand.  Open in front of him was a carton of ice cream that Mycroft had forgotten they owned.  The younger man blinked, arching an eyebrow, and could barely hold back his smirk when Gregory noticed he was no longer alone in the room.

 

“Ah crap, Myc…” Gregory sighed, jumping and looking extremely guilty.  He sighed and dropped the spoon into the carton, sitting back in the seat and running a hand through his silvery hair.

 

“Gregory, I told you earlier you did not have to continue this diet with me,” Mycroft said, shaking his head and walking over to sit down next to his husband.  He glanced over at the ice cream – it was half empty.  For the sake of the other man’s stomach he hoped he hadn’t eaten all that in one sitting.

 

“I know, but,” Gregory groaned, shutting his eyes and frowning. “I really meant to.  And I haven’t been doing this all the time; I’ve been real good. I just… I came down to get some water, and then it was there, and I was just _so hungry_.”

 

Chuckling softly, Mycroft reached over and rested a hand on Gregory’s shoulder.  The older man fell silent and gazed over at him, clearly feeling awful about what he’d done. It was endearing. Mycroft smiled affectionately.

 

“My dear, it’s fine,” he repeated, squeezing the older man’s shoulder reassuringly. “Stop feeling so guilty.  I meant what I said earlier.  While it has touched me greatly that you decided to join me in this, I am not hurt that you slipped.  You don’t have to keep doing this with me.  I mean it.”

 

“But I wanted to…” Gregory grumbled. Shaking his head, Mycroft pulled the older man close and wrapped his arm around his broad shoulders. He pressed a kiss into that amazing, silver hair.

 

“Well, we all slip up from time to time,” he commented, glancing again at the ice cream.  Then, in a rather uncharacteristic spur-of-the-moment decision, he reached out and grabbed the spoon that was being used.  Gregory sat up, watching silently as Mycroft scooped out a small bite of ice cream and ate it.

 

“Myc,” Gregory started, his jaw dropping in disbelief. Mycroft hummed at the taste, letting it settle on his tongue and melt a bit.  He set the spoon back down and glanced at his husband with a smile.

 

“We all slip up,” he repeated after swallowing the ice cream.

 

“You didn’t have to-“ Gregory started, but he was grinning.  Mycroft smiled.

 

“Come now.  Let’s go back to bed,” Mycroft said, patting Gregory’s knee and standing, effectively putting an end to the conversation.  The older man put the ice cream up, and they headed back to their bedroom hand in hand.


	186. Shut Up, Sherlock

“There,” Sherlock said out of the blue as he was standing in the middle of the Yard.  Greg and John were in the middle of a conversation about football as they all waited for results from Bart’s on a current case.  They blinked and glanced over at the detective, who was staring at a table along the wall that held the division’s coffee and pastries (when they had some).

 

“There what?” John asked, furrowing his brow in confusion.  As always, Sherlock puzzled him greatly.  Greg blinked.

 

“There, John,” Sherlock nodded again. “And…”

 

His sharp, pale eyes scanned the room, peering at a sofa in another corner.  He wandered over to it, gaining the attention of Sally and another, newer officer. He shook his head.

 

“Here as well,” he commented, before looking at Greg. “Dear lord, Lestrade.”

 

“Dear- what, Sherlock?” Greg asked, exasperated. What had he bloody well done this time? Instead of replying, Sherlock just shook his head and began to wander back over to them.

 

“This desk too,” he commented, motioning to one that was rarely occupied by anyone.  He snorted. “For a man of your age, you’re rather adventurous. I’m surprised.”

 

John continued to stare on in confusion.

 

“What are you on about, Freak?” Sally asked, crossing her arms.  Sherlock hummed in response. Wandering past Greg and John, he poked his head inside Greg’s office.

 

“Lestrade, is there anywhere in this office you haven’t?” he asked, gazing at the man in question over his shoulder. Greg started to feel dread settling at the pit of his stomach.  Surely he wasn’t talking about…

 

“Shut up, Sherlock,” he hissed, glaring, and crossing his arms tightly over his chest.  These deductions were a bit not good, and were it just John in the room he wouldn’t care.  But there were colleagues in here too, and they really didn’t need to know.

 

“It’s not my fault you’re so-“

 

“ _Shut. Up.  Sherlock_ ,” Greg glared heatedly.  But it was too late.

 

“Missionary on the sofa, I’m sure,” Sherlock was starting to ramble off.  Greg felt himself starting to panic.  No one had caught on yet, but if he kept going like he was, they soon would.

 

“Sherlock, if you ever want to work a case again, you’re going to stop talking right now,” Greg glared.  He didn’t mean it, though.  That was the problem.  Sherlock knew he didn’t mean it.  Greg could tell by the smug smirk the infuriating man was giving him.

 

“We both know that’s not true,” Sherlock said sarcastically, just rubbing it in.  Ugh. Greg sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, praying that a hole would open up under him and swallow him whole so he didn’t have to deal with what was about to happen. Of course, since it involved Mycroft too, Sherlock was more than eager to be a little shit about it.

 

“Blow job on that vacant desk,” Sherlock said, pointing.  John’s jaw dropped and Sally’s eyes grew wide.  Yep, there it went. Now they knew exactly what Sherlock was on about

 

“Sherlock,” John hissed warningly, giving him that infamous ‘this is not good so you need to bring it in’ look.  Sherlock was too giddy to ramble things off to notice.

 

“I’d start naming positions for the office, but it seems like the two of you exhausted every one possible,” Sherlock smirked. “Impressive for men your age.  And of course, you had him on his back on the coffee table.”

 

Greg groaned.  Sherlock was, of course, entirely correct.

 

“And we’re leaving,” John snapped, grabbing Sherlock’s elbow. “Sorry Greg.  So sorry.”

 

He started glaring at Sherlock, who was playing innocent, as he was practically drug out of the offices.  Sally started.

 

“Please don’t,” Greg pleaded, not over the verge of begging.  He was bloody well mortified right now. 

 

“Nice one, boss,” she said, smirking instead. Greg couldn’t decide if that was better or worse.  With a groan, he turned and headed straight into his office and shut the door. He fell into his chair and pulled out his mobile, rubbing at his temples in frustration.  Still frowning, he texted Mycroft.

 

_I don’t know what bug got up Sherlock’s arse, but I’m going to kill him and properly dispose of the body.  Thought you deserved a heads up.  –GL_


	187. Strangers In The Rain

“Spread out, cover the area,” Greg instructed, waving around the crime scene and stepping back from the dead man sprawled on the sidewalk. “Make sure we don’t miss any possible evidence – check the rubbish bins, see if we can find a wallet or something we can ID him with.”

 

He ran a hand through his hair and licked his lips, glancing up at the sky.  It was starting to drizzle, but he’d still be here for a while yet. There was a bit of hesitation before people began following the instructions he’d given.  He was still just a sergeant, after all, so many of the people around him were almost at the same rank as him.  He was, however, acting officer on the scene, so he was technically in charge.

 

This was a big case.  Greg would be lying if he said he wasn’t a bit nervous at running point on it.  The Detective Inspector was in the middle of another high profile case and hadn’t been able to spare the power, so he sent Greg off on his own for this one. It seemed to be a fairly straightforward murder, but the victim was an important businessman, so the department would still get a lot of heat if it wasn’t cleaned up and solved quickly.

 

Slowly, he walked over to the edge of the scene and ducked under the tape to get a moment to himself.  Forensics had just arrived on the scene and were taking pictures of the body, so he wasn’t really needed for this part.  They’d call him over with questions or when they were done, so this was a good time for a smoke.  Stepping up onto the sidewalk, he nudged a discarded piece of bread off into a drain and pulled out his pack of cigarettes.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a tall man slowly walking over to him.  He turned his head to regard him, eyeing him slowly.  He’d never seen the man before, but he was tall and very well put together. He was wearing a long coat and what looked like a very expensive suit underneath.  His hands were tucked into his pockets, with an umbrella hanging off one arm.  He remained silent, gazing at Greg with pale, piercing eyes, and came to a stop next to him before regarding the crime scene in front of them.

 

“Can I help you?” Greg asked, opening his pack. It was empty.  Well _fuck_. Frowning, he shoved the pack back in his pocket and gazed out at the scene as well.

 

“Here, Sergeant,” the man said in a smooth, posh voice. Glancing over again, Greg watched as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes as well.  The shorter man blinked for a moment, before hesitantly reaching out and retrieving one of the fags inside.

 

“Ah, thanks,” he nodded, popping the end in between his lips and lighting up.  The other man did as well, and they smoked in silence for a moment.

 

This was strange, right?  Who even was this man?  He looked extremely official, so chances are it wasn’t just some random bystander. But who?  He couldn’t help but regard the man warily and curiously.

 

“Government?” he asked finally, tilting his head as he took a long drag off the cigarette.  It tasted amazing, so the brand had to be expensive.  Seemed to fit him; everything else about him looked expensive too.

 

“In a manner of speaking,” the man said. The edge of his mouth quirked up in a smirk that clearly didn’t reach his eyes. “One might say an interested party.”

 

Greg took another long drag, regarding him with a curious hum.  The drizzle got harder as the rain picked up, and he sighed in irritation.  He was going to get absolutely soaked.  Wordlessly, the man next to him held his cigarette in his mouth as he opened his umbrella and held it above his head.  He regarded Greg with a tilt of his head, beckoning him a bit closer.  Greg hesitated again, but he was already getting pretty wet, so…

 

“Is there something I can do for you?” he asked as he stepped closer, under the cover of the large black umbrella. He continued smoking, watching the other officers cleaning up stuff.

 

“Just scoping things out for now,” came the response. “This case you happen to be heading is very sensitive. I suspect, for one reason or another, our paths will cross again very soon.”

 

“Is that so?” Greg asked, regarding the man with an amused smile. “So, what should I call you, then?  If that’s going to happen.”

 

“I’m sure you will find out soon enough,” came the very cryptic reply.  Greg had to hold back a snort.  This was an interesting man. “I believe this case will be getting you places, Sergeant. I’m sure I’ll be in touch.”

 

Greg watched as the man dropped his cigarette and stepped on it, stubbing out the flame.  He nodded at Greg, pale eyes running across his form in a strange way. Greg felt a shiver go down his spine. This posh man was looking at him in a peculiar way, but not… bad?

 

“Ta, then,” he nodded, before hearing his name called across the crime scene.  He glanced over to wave at the officer, signaling his acknowledgement, but by the time he looked back, the man was gone.

 

He was… oddly looking forward to this mysterious, posh man being in touch. He couldn’t really think on it any more, however, because he did have a crime scene to run.


	188. Never Been Told

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the scenario around this drabble, that was an Anon prompt on Tumblr, I had to go back an adopt my old headcanon about the Holmes parents BEFORE series 3 came out. It was an extremely popular headcanon for them before series 3, in the entire fandom, and it was really the best way to work this one. ^.^

Greg and Mycroft were curled up on the sofa together, legs tangled, wine glasses in hand.  They’d spent the last hour drinking through one bottle and had opened a second, which they were now halfway done with.  In between kissing and some intimate touches, they made casual conversation and cuddled together in relaxation.

 

Greg was currently telling stories from earlier in his career, when Sally Donovan and Phillip Anderson had just joined the force. The case had been one hot mess after another, which had been absolutely miserable at the time, but made for highly amusing anecdotes now.

 

“Oh dear lord,” Mycroft chuckled, shaking his head with a grin. “This is absurd.  Anderson really ended up dropping the body.”

 

“Yup,” Greg laughed.  He downed the rest of his wine, relaxing back against the large, comfortable sofa in Mycroft’s home.  He gazed fondly at the bright look on the younger man’s face. Looking happy suited him so well. It made his heart swell. “I don’t know what he was trying to prove, but there it went, sprawling onto the ground. Supplies rolled all over the ground too, it was an absolute mess.”

 

“Doesn’t sound like he’s all that different from now,” Mycroft smirked. “Your Anderson’s a bit of a twat.”

 

“A…” Greg blinked.  There was a moment of silence, before he absolutely burst out laughing. Perhaps it was the alcohol, but hearing Mycroft call anyone a _twat_ was suddenly the most hilarious and brilliant thing he could have ever imagined.  Mycroft chuckled, setting a hand on Greg’s thigh as he kept on laughing. “Ah, Christ, Myc, I love you.”

 

It only took moments before silence fell. Mycroft’s entire body froze, and shortly after Greg’s laughter died off and his eyes grew wide. He’d never… never said that before. He’d come close, but always became too timid to speak the words he’d known for ages that he felt. They stared at each other, and Greg opened his mouth to say something, but before he could Mycroft was detangling their legs and standing.

 

“I’ll… return in a moment,” Mycroft said stiffly, before turning and briskly walking out of the room.

 

Greg sat there for a moment, by himself, staring off at where Mycroft had disappeared.  That had clearly not been the right thing to say.  He shifted, leaning forward a bit and chewing on his bottom lip. Should he go after the other man? Or… should he just wait here?

 

Running a hand through his hair, he pushed himself off the couch and stood.  He had absolutely no idea what he was going to say, but he felt like he couldn’t just sit here and wait.  So, clearing his throat, he wandered out of sitting room and down the hall Mycroft had disappeared into.  He glanced around, not entirely sure where to go, before spotting him in the kitchen.

 

“Mycroft?” he asked softly, hesitating before stepping into the kitchen.  The younger man wasn’t facing him, and he had his head tilted down.  Greg chewed on his bottom lip again nervously. Slowly, he walked over to stand behind him, and reached out to put a timid hand against his back.

 

“Hey,” he whispered, brow furrowed. “Look, I’m…”

 

Before he could get out his apology, Mycroft turned, and the look on his face completely shocked Greg.  He could read every emotion in those pale eyes, and the frown on his lips, and the wrinkles on his forehead.  But more than that, he was… Mycroft was crying. Not a lot, and he wasn’t making a sound, but those were definitely tear stains on his cheeks and tears welled up in his eyes.

 

“Mycroft,” he started again, exhaling his name in a shocked gasp. “Myc, I-“

 

“No one has ever told me that before,” Mycroft interrupted, glancing down at the floor like he couldn’t bear to look at Greg any longer. Greg blinked, taking in those words.

 

“No one?” he repeated, lips parted in shock. “Not once?”

 

Mycroft shook his head.  Greg was floored.  Never before had this brilliant, wonderful man been told those three simple words that truly carried that much weight to them?  It was a bloody crime.

 

“My parents… They are not like yours. They are not like most, as you are already aware from what I’ve told you of my upbringing,” Mycroft began to explain. He rubbed at his eyes with the back of one hand, and his voice was quivering slightly, but overall he seemed fairly in control of himself. “They are not those kind of people. Not even to their own children.”

 

Greg couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Mycroft’s own parents had never told their children they loved them.  No wonder Mycroft and Sherlock grew up the way they were.  With a huff, Greg reached out and tugged Mycroft over to him in a tight hug.

 

“Come back to the sofa with me,” he requested softly. “Please?”

 

Mycroft was stiff in Greg’s arms, but after a moment, he nodded reluctantly.  Greg didn’t say a word as they made their way back, and when he sat down, he tugged Mycroft down to straddle his lap.  He gazed up at the other man with an affectionate, serious look on his face.

 

“Starting now, you will hear those words,” Greg said. He’d decided.  He should’ve said those words a lot sooner. He’d done this man a disservice by now. “I love you, you hear me?  I really do. You’re brilliant and amazing and starting tonight I’m going to make up for all these years that you’ve never been told such.”

 

“Gregory…” Mycroft said, pressing his lips together in a thin line.

 

“No,” Greg said, shaking his head. “This is the way it’s going to be.  I mean it. I love you.”

 

Reaching up, he pulled Mycroft down and kissed him sweetly.  After a moment, he could feel Mycroft clutch at his shirt as he started to return the kisses. He regretted every moment he’d thought those words without speaking them.  He planned to make up for every one of those moments.


	189. July Guest Writer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> July's guest writer is iamtheparadoxoflife! ^.^

Mycroft was calmly bouncing Oliver on one arm, watching the scene in front of him play out.

Greg was going a thousand different kinds of crazy, lashing out in every direction.

Looking back on it, deciding to cook Christmas dinner for eighteen had been a ridiculous undertaking, but Greg had been determined to do it. December twenty-sixth had seemed like the perfect time: after everyone had celebrated with their families individually and gifts had been given out.

Although a roast turkey was in the oven, four side dishes were cooking on the stove, more were in the fridge, the cook himself still didn’t feel like it was enough. Standing in the middle of the chaos of the kitchen, Mycroft couldn’t help but disagree with that statement.

“Abby!” Greg yelled, stirring two of the pots. “Do we have enough plates?”

“We’re two short!” his daughter called from the dining room, poking her head around the corner cautiously. Her father had been like this all day, and she’d gotten her head bitten off once or twice.

Greg threw up his hands. “Mycroft, do we have any extra plates? Why are you just standing there, can’t you see I’m going crazy? Help me! Go find Abby some plates!”

Mycroft rolled his eyes, and complied. “Abigail, darling, here, I’ll show you the cupboard where— wow.” The dining room looked lovely. Everything was set perfectly, and the centerpiece was a beautiful bunch of white roses tied with red ribbon around the edge of the vase. The Christmas tree sparkled happily in the corner. “Did you do all this?”

“Lizzie bought the flowers, but I set it up.” She smiled, this being the first approval she’d received since her sister had dropped her off to help with dinner that morning.

“It’s lovely,” Mycroft said approvingly.

“Lub-ly,” Oliver repeated.

“That’s right! Lovely!”

“I DON’T HEAR YOU GETTING THOSE PLATES. EVERYTHING HAS TO BE READY IN AN HOUR!” Greg yelled, getting more and more flustered. 

“The party doesn’t start until five, dear.” Mycroft replied.

“Try telling my mother that!”

“Abigail, the plates are in that cupboard, I’m going to go see if I can calm your father down.”

“Thanks, Myc, he needs it. Here, I’ll take Oliver.”

As he handed his son off to his stepdaughter, Mycroft had a sudden wave of affection for his little family. What a little corner of the world I’ve found. He smiled warmly at them both, and then hurried off to calm his husband down.

“Gregory,” he said firmly, standing behind the man in question, who snapped around.

“Can it wait!?”

“No. It cannot.” 

“Fine,” he huffed. “What is it?”

Mycroft pulled the older man away from the stove. “Gregory,” he said calmly. “You’re stressing yourself out more than you need to.”

“Easy for you to say!” Greg sputtered. “You go to dinner parties all the time! You’re a diplomat! I, on the other hand, have zero experience with this! I’m meeting Lizzie’s new girlfriend for the first time (What am I even supposed to say to her!?), Sherlock’s probably going to announce that someone was murdered a block away, or, like, I don’t know, ruin my sister’s marriage or something, my brother’s coming. I don’t know why I invited him, I guess I thought he wouldn’t come, but that’s going to be ten different kinds of awkward, your parents are going to be watching my every move, and not only do I have to hold this party, I also have to parent my one year old in front of everyone and not look like an incompetent prat! You don’t understand pressure, Myc, you do this every day! You can pull it all off and still walk out smiling! You’re smooth as fuck and I’m going to crumple in comparison. This is your element—”

He was cut off with a soft kiss. “You are going to be brilliant. Everyone in that room loves you. Or will love you. And you are a fantastic father. Now, go shower and get changed. Abigail and I can finish the dinner.”

At Mycroft’s words, Greg felt instantly better. How did the younger man always know what to say? Being married to a brilliant politician had its perks. “I’d hug you, but I don’t want to mess up your suit. I’m sorry I’ve been such a dick today. It’s just…you’re a lot to live up to.”

Mycroft wrapped Greg in his arms. “You are the most amazing man I know, and you know it. Worlds better than I. Tonight is going to be lovely, alright? I promise.”

As “lovely” as tonight might be, Greg never wanted to be anywhere other than right here, right now.


	190. Nightmares

Greg woke with a jolt, shooting up in bed as a hand flew to his mouth.  His brown eyes were wide in the darkness and his chest was heaving as he gasped in heavy gulps of air. His heart was pounding and he was shaking.  He was damp with sweat. The nightmares were getting worse.

 

Somehow, he hadn’t woken the man sleeping next to him. For once.  He almost always did.  Biting his lip, he glanced at Mycroft’s peaceful, sleeping form as his eyes finally adjusted to the dark.  He swallowed thickly, his throat dry and his gut hurting.  As carefully as he could, he slipped out of bed and headed into the connected washroom on unsteady legs.

 

His vision swam when he turned the light on, and he had to pause and shut his eyes as it adjusted to the change. He took slow breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth, praying desperately that this one wouldn’t make him sick.  They did sometimes. For as long as Greg had been on the force, sometimes there were cases that just stuck with you. An extremely violent death, a young child, or a kidnapping.  For a time, after Sherlock’s “suicide”, there had been those nightmares too. Recently, it had been kidnappings.

 

More specifically, it had been Mycroft being kidnapped. Greg being forced to watch his torture. Greg having to work the crime scene when his body turned up days after.  Shuddering, Greg shut the door to the washroom and chewed on his lip as he went over to the tub and turned on the tap.

 

He shed his clothes slowly and silently as water filled the tub.  Frowning, he sat down on the side of the tub and gripped the porcelain tightly, closing his eyes and whimpering.  He had to open them again, though, because every time he closed his eyes he saw the limp, bruised and bloodied body of his lover.  It almost made him sick.

 

When the tub was filled to his liking, he shut off the water and climbed in.  He had to stop for a moment, before slowly sitting down.  He’d purposely made the water a bit hotter than was comfortable, and finally he sunk in with a sigh.  Leaning his head back, he stared up at the ceiling and the steam that was wafting up around him. Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision before slowly sliding down the sides of his face.

 

He couldn’t pinpoint what was causing the nightmares to continue.  The first one had made sense.  Mycroft had just gotten back from a trip to Serbia, and he’d been hurt during it.  It was minor, of course, and long since healed, but it shook Greg in a way he hadn’t fully expected.  Two weeks later, and he was plagued with these gruesome images almost nightly. He wasn’t sleeping. The only nights he slept without interruption were the ones where he was so exhausted from the few days prior that there was no fighting it anymore.

 

After about twenty minutes, once he’d finally gotten used to the temperature of the water, he sunk down into the tub and let himself be fully submerged.  He shut his eyes and held his breath as he went under, letting the warmth of the water surround him and rock his body slightly.  There was an odd comfort to this that he could never quite place, and it was a good placeholder since Mycroft had slept through his waking. He couldn’t bear to wake the younger man himself, wanting him to sleep as much as he was able, so a bath it had been.

 

He should’ve known, however, that when he resurfaced, he would no longer be alone in the en-suite.  With a soft gasp as he got his breath back, Greg wiped dripping water off his face and gazed at the tall man staring at him softly.

 

“Another nightmare,” Mycroft commented, voice still full of sleep.  It was never a question. It never needed to be. Greg nodded.

 

“Yeah,” he sighed, slumping back against the tub again. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

 

“It is of no concern,” Mycroft said instead of answering the question.  Greg watched as he walked over and sat on the edge of the tub.  Carefully, he pulled his robe off, revealing that he was wearing nothing more than a pair of pants and one of Greg’s t-shirts. It made the older man grin. That was a rare sight.

 

Leaning over, Mycroft smoothed wet hair off Greg’s forehead and stroked down the back of his head and onto his neck. Greg let his eyes flutter closed and he sighed a bit more happily this time.

 

“It was the same,” Greg started softly. Mycroft’s hand did not still as it stroked back and fourth along his shoulders.

 

“You don’t need to tell me,” his partner said gently. “I know.  It’s okay.”

 

Greg nodded, falling silent.  It was okay, wasn’t it?  Mycroft wasn’t dead and lying in Bart’s.  He was right here, in one of Greg’s shirts, touching his bare skin reassuringly. He was leaning down for a slow, meaningful kiss.  He was whispering nothing in particular against Greg’s lips, and soon, he was pulling him out of the bath and back to bed.

 

It made the nightmares much easier to forget.


	191. When He Misses You...

Mycroft was looking forward to being back in London.  More importantly, he was looking forward to walking into the door of his own home and sleeping in his own bed.  _Most_ importantly, he was looking forward to no longer sleeping alone.

 

He had been in Germany for an ambassador’s conference that had lasted for six weeks.  This was, of course, four weeks longer than Mycroft had initially planned on. It was truly baffling how little politicians could get done, for the most part.  So, for six weeks, he had to suffer being apart from his dear Gregory. For six weeks he was confined to Skype calls and text messages, which allowed him the comfort of the older man’s rough voice and lovely smile, but even still… Mycroft missed his touch and his scent. He missed the warmth his body provided and the comfort that came along with it.

 

He had worked closely with Anthea to effectively clear his schedule for the following week.  She was currently taking a look at Gregory’s as well. He would wait to discuss it with the other man, naturally, but already she was shifting things around and making it easier to relieve the Detective Inspector of any cases. This would allow them to spend some much needed time together.  It made him even more eager to arrive home.

 

It was late when they arrived back in London. The time in Heathrow read ten past 2a. It was later than he would have preferred, but not quite as late as he had been anticipating, so there was a victory in that.  Collecting his briefcase from the carry on section above his head, he stepped off the plane and met up with Anthea at the baggage claim.

 

“There’s already a car outside,” she informed him, tapping away as quickly as ever on her Blackberry. “Everything is arranged starting tomorrow morning.  A few small tweaks to Detective Inspector Lestrade’s schedule and you have your week.”

 

“Thank you Anthea,” Mycroft nodded, stepping forward to grab his suitcase as it emerged.  Together, they headed out to the car and the drive home started. They did not converse along the way – they usually didn't – and before long the car was stopping in front of his flat.

 

“Good evening, sir,” Anthea said as he stepped out of the car.

 

“Good evening, Anthea.  Thank you, as always, for your hard work.” They shared a quick glance and smile, before Mycroft shut the door and headed up to the door of his home.

 

It was quiet and dark when he stepped inside and shut the door behind him.  Mycroft expected it to be.  He would be shocked if he found his other half even remotely awake, and as much as he wanted to see him, he _did_ hope the older man was getting some proper sleep.  Leaving his bags inside the door (he’d deal with them tomorrow), he made his way through the flat and to their bedroom.

 

The sight that greeted him made him smile. Gregory was sprawled out on his side of the bed, though his body was slightly diagonal as he gripped the pillow Mycroft usually used when he slept.  He couldn’t help but wonder if this was how the older man always slept when he was away.  Quietly, Mycroft began to undress, taking off each layer and folding them properly before moving onto the next. He barely tore his eyes away from the sleeping man as he did this.  He’d missed being in his presence, and being able to watch every small shift of his face as he slept.

 

Once he was undressed, he pulled on a pair of pajamas and plugged his mobile into a charger, letting it set on the nightstand. Then, as carefully as he could, he pulled back the duvet and slipped underneath.

 

Even with as careful as he was, Gregory stirred. His brow furrowed and he made a soft grunting noise as he shifted and blinked his eyes open sleepily.

 

“Myc?” he asked groggily, clearly not at all awake. Mycroft smiled softly and curled in close, wrapping an arm around the older man’s torso.

 

“Yes,” he whispered. “I am home. Go back to sleep, my dear.”

 

Gregory seemed to nod, though he smiled happily before nuzzling into Mycroft’s body.  He was asleep almost instantly.  Mycroft remained awake, enjoying the feeling of Gregory’s breathing against his body.  He stroked his silvery hair, smiling, and breathing deeply.

 

Blinking, he opened his eyes and paused. Then, he breathed deeply again. No, he hadn’t been mistaken. That was definitely not Gregory’s usual brand of aftershave.  Pausing, Mycroft tilted his head close and breathed in again.  The realization made his heart flutter with warmth and surprise. Had the other man really missed him that much?

 

_It was his._


	192. Distraction

The evening was going rather well. Dinner had been nicely prepared and seemingly enjoyed by both parties, though Mycroft had definitely had some reservation on how that was going to play out.  It was rare that he cooked, and so far most of his dates with Gregory had been going out to eat.  The older man had mentioned staying in for dinner, however, and it had definitely not sounded like a bad idea.

 

Gregory ended up _loving_ the meal, of course.  Mycroft was glad.  His worry melted away after the first few bites, when it was clear that the pleasure he was witnessing across the table was not for show.  It made him laugh a bit.  The older man was such an expressive person, and it was something Mycroft had always adored about him.

 

The two of them had been dating for about a month now. Everything was still so new, but it was all surprisingly comfortable too.  Mycroft hadn’t expected to slip into the role of being someone’s partner as quickly as he did with Gregory.  It all continued to surprise him, and there was a wonderful thrill in that. It excited him, and gave life to an area he’d never bothered to spend the energy to focus on before.

 

After dinner they had shared a small dessert (because of course Mycroft would not allow himself to eat a sweet too large, and it was much more enjoyable when shared), and then they had relocated to the sitting room after all the dishes had been washed and put away. These tasks all took much longer than they normally did, because the two men kept distracting each other. A tiny noise or a quick bump of the elbow would turn into one of them leaning against the other. Inevitably, they would be kissing.

 

After sitting on the sofa and relaxing for a little while, Mycroft untangled himself and headed back into the kitchen to make them some tea.  He listened to the sound of the television, knowing that Gregory was in there watching whatever was on, and Mycroft couldn’t help but smile.  It was truly a wondrous thing.  He lingered around the stove as he prepared the tea, getting out some of his favorite tealeaves and two cups as the kettle sat on the burner.

 

As he stood there, Mycroft heard footsteps behind him. He smiled slightly and straightened, as if to turn and face the man who had joined him in the kitchen once again, but was unable to get that far.  There was a pair of arms wrapping around his waist, and Gregory was pressing up against his back.

 

“Hello there,” Mycroft hummed, glancing over his shoulder briefly.  He chuckled in amusement. “I told you I would only be a moment.”

 

“Yeah, well, I like it better being with you,” the older man said softly. 

 

Gregory was a lot like a puppy in those regards. He enjoyed the attention, and being in Mycroft’s company quite often.  It was nice, he had to admit.  Mycroft relaxed and closed his eyes, leaning back into the embrace for a moment, but they flew open again when he felt warm, soft lips pressed against his neck.

 

Mycroft shivered.  The older man was lifting up on his toes and pressing kisses behind his ear, and slowly making his way down his pale neck.  His lips parted in a soft sigh.  It felt so good, this kind of affection.  He craved it more often than he’d ever expected, and he would honestly be fine feeling this forever.

 

The kettle’s whistling pulled his attention back to the present, and he blinked his eyes opened and settled his hands on top of Gregory’s, squeezing gently.

 

“I must get the kettle, darling,” he said in a hushed voice, as Gregory hadn’t stopped kissing his neck.  Regretfully, he pulled away and focused on pouring the liquid and seeping the tealeaves.  His attention was pulled once again as they were seeping, when he turned around and almost immediately had Gregory’s lips on his own.  They wrapped their arms around each other, hugging close, and Mycroft was pressed against the counter as their lips molded together perfectly.

 

Finally, after much longer than was probably necessary, they parted and were back in the sitting room.  Thankfully, the tea was still hot.  Mycroft carried both cups in with them, and carefully set them down on the coffee table before settling in next to his partner.

 

Before he could pick up his drink, there was a tanned hand wrapping around his tie and tugging him close.  Mycroft let out a noise of surprise that was swallowed up in another, more passionate kiss.  He was basically pulled onto Gregory’s lap, and he gripped the man’s collared shirt as the kiss deepened.

 

“The tea will get cold,” he managed to gasp against Gregory’s lips.

 

“I’ll make it worth it,” came the response. Mycroft felt Gregory smirk before he dived back in.  The younger man trembled with desire that he was still becoming so used to at times. It was truly a wonder they ever got anything done when they were together.


	193. Getting Fitted

Greg stood in the dressing room, feeling a bit nervous as he glanced at himself in a mirror.  There was a reason he never shopped for clothes for himself. He avoided it at all costs, especially when the clothes he had back home were perfectly fine and not falling apart yet.  Christina always used to buy him clothes back when they were still married.  Apart from the occasion shirt or pair of trousers that needed replacing, Greg had avoided doing his own shopping.

 

Though… technically he wasn’t doing his own shopping. That unfortunately didn’t excuse him from standing here in a full suit, trying to decide if he should step out and reveal himself or not.  He turned from side to side, staring at his profile and absently tugging at the bottom of the suit jacket, smoothing wrinkles that didn’t exist.  Yeah, he was fidgety.  Why he’d let Mycroft take him out for this he didn’t think he’d really be able to answer.

 

“Have I lost you, my dear?” came the younger man’s posh voice, clearly amused.  Greg frowned and huffed through his nose.

 

“No…” he called back, running a hand through his hair and continuing to stare.  He didn’t really _need_ a new suit. The semi-dressy stuff he had at home did just fine.  Besides, his line of work was nowhere near as professional as his partner’s, so there was hardly any need for three-piece suits like this.  The colors were nice: black suit with a dark grey waistcoat, matching tie, and pale blue button up shirt underneath.  It looked good – really good, actually - but…  Maybe he should just take it all back off. But no… No, he should get it over with and step out.  Mycroft would want to see.

 

So, squaring his shoulders, Greg took a deep breath and turned.  He closed his eyes for a moment before pushing the curtain aside and stepping out into the small dressing area, where Mycroft was seated on a small sofa.  He glanced over at his partner, his ball of nerves fluttering deep in his gut, watching as pale eyes landed on his dressed up form.

 

He watched as Mycroft’s lips parted, but no words came out.  Mycroft closed his mouth, blinked and licked his lips, and opened them again.  He took a deep breath, still not speaking. Greg couldn’t decide if his silence was a good or a bad thing.  The younger man blinked rapidly a few times, before standing.

 

“Gregory…” he mumbled, walking over to stand in front of Greg.  The older of the two shifted his weight.

 

“Yeah, it’s…” he started, rubbing the back of his head.

 

“Breathtaking,” Mycroft said before he could finish. Greg blinked and stared up at him.

 

“Yeah?” he asked, blinking himself. He watched as Mycroft began to smile.

 

“Of course,” he said, reaching out and squeezing Greg’s bicep. “It’s perfection on you.  I should have brought you to a fitting _much_ sooner than this.  I realize now exactly what I have been missing out on.”

 

“It’s hardly a fitting,” Greg chuckled, glancing down at the suit he was wearing. “It’s odd, but it kind of already fits perfectly.”

 

He shrugged, smoothing the sides of the jacket again. It really did fit like it was made specifically for him.  It was rare that something was like that right away.  Not that he could never find clothes that fit, because his body size wasn’t that strange, but there was something about this suit that legitimately fit him like a glove.  It was freaky. He glanced up at Mycroft again, who had pressed his lips into a thin line and was looking a bit self-conscious.

 

“I… may have already provided them with your measurements,” he admitted softly.  Greg blinked, and then laughed a bit.

 

“Seriously?” he asked.  Mycroft nodded, and Greg grinned widely.  Reaching up, he cupped his partner’s cheek and stroked affectionately with his thumb. “How exactly did you know my measurements?”

 

Mycroft arched his eyebrow and gave him that ‘you’ve got to be kidding me’ look Greg knew so well.  Even still, he leaned into the touch.  He started to smile again knowingly, and Greg realized he already knew the answer to that question.

 

“Not only do I see, but I also observe,” Mycroft commented softly, sounding an awful lot like his little brother. “I am familiar enough with your body to know your precise measurements without actually having to take them.”

 

“That you are,” Greg smirked. He glanced around to make sure they were still alone before pushing himself up on his toes so he could lean in close and brush his lips against Mycroft’s ear. “Why don’t we wrap this up so you can remind me just how familiar with my body you are?”

 

He felt Mycroft tense and shiver. There was a soft huff that came from his nose, and it just made Greg smirk even more.  Then, Mycroft was nodding and settling his slender hands along his waist.

 

“Yes, I do believe that sounds like a fine idea,” he muttered, leaning in to brush the end of his long nose against Greg’s jaw. It was his turn to shiver a bit. Yeah, it was time to go.


	194. Protecting Me

Greg’d had his fair share of rough cases, that was for sure.  His life had been in danger more than once.  A lot of murders ended up being very cut and dry, or crimes of passion, or overall just weird, but… Occasionally something even more serious would crop up. Bombings, terrorists, and more than just simple kidnapping or murder.  Heh, the fact that there he could even consider murder simple… What a man he had become.

 

This, unfortunately, was one of those more serious cases. His life had been put in jeopardy more than once, and it was clear by this point that someone was actually gunning for him intentionally.  It was more than just the fact that he was the DI on the case.  No… no, it was _him_ specifically. He’d already made it into the hospital once, requiring stitches to his forehead and his side (but really the nurses made much more of a fuss than was required).

 

He hadn’t been all that concerned, honestly. Even though he was a clear, intentional target, it didn’t ruffle him that badly.  It did, however, seem to severely ruffle one of the other head runners of this particular case.  Mycroft Holmes was not one to ever show irritation or concern outright, but with Greg he seemed to very easily.  He’d seen the younger man extremely irritated more than once, but this time it was definitely concern.

 

Mycroft had stepped in due to the nature of the terrorists involved.  Something about Serbia that Greg wasn’t quite allowed to know about yet.  It was irritating, because he was still on the bloody case, but at least Mycroft hadn’t immediately yanked it out from under him like he’d done with some in the past.  That was a bonus. They’d been working very well together up until about a week ago, when the fourth attempt had finally been made on Greg’s life.

 

Now… he found himself here.  He was in a huge, fancy house that probably cost more than his flat at least three times over, and he was bloody bored out of his mind. In what could only be described as controlled panic, Mycroft had driven him here one evening, and he’d been stuck here ever since.  He was going stir crazy. No matter how many times he told the man he didn’t need a safe house, it changed nothing.

 

Thankfully, Mycroft at least came to keep him company. They drank tea or wine together, discussed the case, and played chess.  Well, Mycroft played chess.  Greg attempted to learn.  The politician was a very good teacher, though, so he was starting to slowly get the hang of it. Even still, there was only so much he could take.

 

“Look, I appreciate the concern,” he was saying one night as he slumped into one of the sofas in the sitting room. Mycroft was across from him in a chair, laptop on, and a scotch on the table next to him. The younger man glanced up over the screen at him, but said nothing, so Greg continued. “But I want to get back out there, on the case.  I feel like it’s going slower now that I’m not running it.  Seriously, Mycroft, it’s been a week now.”

 

“The case is moving along well, I assure you,” came Mycroft’s response as he continued typing.  Greg sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He appreciated all of this. Hell, he cared about the bloke. Damn Holmes’ had a way of doing that. Even still, he couldn’t stay in here a moment longer.

 

“I can’t even go out on the patio,” he huffed in complaint, crossing his arms. “I can’t enjoy the fresh air.”

 

Mycroft arched his eyebrow and gave him a skeptical look.  Greg rolled his eyes.

 

“Fine, I can’t enjoy the London air,” he corrected in irritation. “Mycroft, I’m going crazy.”

 

“I understand, Gregory, but until the threat is dealt with, you must remain.  It’s for your protection.”

 

Greg couldn’t count how many times he’d been told that now.  It was the last straw. Slightly pissed, he shoved himself off the couch and stormed off, headed towards the front door. He mentally dared Mycroft to stop him.

 

The man took him up that dare, of course. It was mere seconds before he heard Mycroft’s footsteps quickly after him.

 

“Gregory, get back here,” he requested. Greg clenched his fist and kept walking. He made it down the hall, and he reached out for the doorknob to the front door…

 

A slender hand wrapped around his wrist securely. It made Greg pause. If it was enough that Mycroft was initiating physical contact… Sighing, Greg glanced over his shoulder. His eyes went wide at the almost desperate, frazzled look splayed across the other man’s features.

 

“Gregory, please,” Mycroft stressed, brow furrowing. Greg’s hand fell from the knob and he turned.

 

“Why does this all bother you so much?” he asked in a hushed tone, watching Mycroft closely.

 

“Because you are too good a man to be killed by these Serbians,” came a stiff reply.  Greg felt a bit skeptical.

 

“Mycroft…” he sighed, glancing down at the hand still wrapped around his wrist.  He wasn’t resisting, so why hadn’t the man let go? “What’s going on, really?”

 

“Please don’t make me say it,” Mycroft seemed to beg. Greg stared at him. He had a gut feeling, something that had been toying with him for a while.  He’d been dismissing it, blaming it on the fact that he was locked up here and really hadn’t had any contact with people apart from Mycroft. But… All of this only seemed to reaffirm the dreams he’d started having.  The thoughts that couldn’t leave his head when he was in the shower, or when he’d had a little too much to drink.  He licked his lips nervously, and Mycroft’s eyes shifted to the action briefly.

 

“Then show me,” Greg dared to say, testing that thought, and turning his hand in the grip to brush his fingertips along Mycroft’s wrist.

 

The action was like flipping a switch. He watched as Mycroft shivered and shut his eyes.  Then, maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the tension and the stress, but Greg got his answer. Mycroft stepped forward, letting go of Greg’s wrist and grabbing his bicep.  He pulled him close and smashed their lips together.  Greg froze for a moment before melting into it, a hand automatically going to Mycroft’s waist and gripping. 

 

A few more steps and Greg’s back was pressed up against the door.  Mycroft’s body was pressed against his.  He tilted his head, and the younger man took that action to deepen the kiss.  Greg was dizzy and his heart was pounding, but when Mycroft’s tongue slid out and brushed along his lower lip, he practically gasped as he allowed the entrance that was being requested.  Greg gripped tighter, and Mycroft pressed closer, their bodies flush against one another and positively burning.

 

It wasn’t until Greg started to groan that Mycroft broke the kiss.  They stared at each other, panting, pupils blown wide.  Mycroft’s lips were glistening and slightly swollen from their kisses, and Greg found he just wanted to dive back in and start all over again.

 

“Gregory…” Mycroft started, voice rough, suddenly looking self-conscious.  Greg shook his head.

 

“Whatever you’re about to say, don’t,” he started, voice shaking.  He suddenly found all that he wanted was more, and he was not going to let Mycroft try and talk himself out of it when it was clear he wanted it too. “Just kiss me again.”

 

The sound that Mycroft emitted was almost a whimper, and his brow furrowed again.  Greg tilted his chin pre-emptively, and Mycroft moved back in, taking the invitation and kissing him again.  This time was slower and more deliberate, but also more desperate.  Greg was feeling a million emotions and they were overwhelming. They would have to talk. There would be a lot to sort through and a lot to figure out.

 

He wanted to wait on all that. Skip it until tomorrow. For now, he just wanted this.


	195. A Confusing Morning After

Greg woke the next morning alone. He couldn’t say he was surprised. What did surprise him, though, was the sheet of paper on the empty pillow next to him.  He raised his eyebrows as he sat up and reached for it, reading the words that had been so elegantly scrawled on it.

 

_Good morning, Gregory.  I am stopping by the office for an hour and then I plan on bringing some breakfast back to the house with me.  See you shortly. –MH_

Greg smiled softly.  Mycroft had never left him a note before. He ran the pads of his fingers along the words.  Of course his handwriting was as elegant as the man himself.  Sighing through his nose, he climbed out of bed and wandered into the en-suite so he could take a shower.  He glanced at his reflection in the mirror, gazing at his still nude form. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, thinking back to the night before.

 

Greg had been angry, going out of his mind, and then… they’d been kissing.  He found in that moment that it was all he had been wanting.  When they relocated to the bedroom, they had basically ripped each other clothes off and fell into bed.  Before he knew it, Mycroft’s presence was surrounding him, consuming him, and he surrendered without a second thought.

 

Now came the morning after.  Now came the stuff he had pushed aside last night. They would have to talk about this, and figure things out.  It was clear they both had a carnal desire for one another, and it also seemed rather clear that Mycroft cared about him more than that.  If he didn’t care, then there was no explanation for the way he had gazed at Greg when he was trying to leave.  There had been major desperation in his face and in his voice, and after they’d had sex Greg fell asleep in his arms.

 

He turned his face up into the stream and frowned slightly.  There were a lot of thoughts running through his head, and it honestly kinda freaked him out a little bit.  He found that he wanted to try, though.  He wanted more of last night.  He cared for the younger man, and he hoped that they could figure things out when he came back for breakfast.

 

As he was finishing washing himself and shutting off the water, it dawned on him that… How was he supposed to act when Mycroft got home?  Like they were friends? Or… or were more intimate mannerisms okay?  He honestly had no idea. He didn’t know what to expect from the younger man when he came back.

 

There wasn’t much time to worry about that, though, because with a towel wrapped around his waist, he wandered out of the bedroom absently and wandered right into Mycroft’s line of sight. He froze, lips parted a bit in words he didn’t quite know how to form.  What shocked him more, though, was the way Mycroft was looking at him. His pale eyes were wide, and clearly admiring his naked and still somewhat wet form, and he could see the way he licked his lips quickly and blinked.  It was…

 

“Hey,” he managed to say, taking a step back self-consciously. “Sorry, didn’t know you were back. I’ll… ah… I’ll go change.”

 

He spun around and ducked back into the bedroom before Mycroft could say anything, feeling heat in his cheeks. He didn’t quite know why he was embarrassed.  After all, Mycroft had fucked him last night (though perhaps that was too crude a term for the sex they’d had, because there was definitely more to it than that). Even still, he felt strange under the stare he’d just received, and once he dropped the towel he tugged on pants, trousers, and a tanktop.

 

Taking a deep breath, he ran a hand through his still slightly damp hair and reemerged.  Mycroft had moved to the kitchen, where he was sorting out various food items he had in fact brought back with him.  Greg wandered over to one of the chairs and sat down.

 

“This all looks lovely,” he said with a smile. Mycroft returned it, just barely, before nodding and continuing his actions.

 

“Indeed.  I hoped it would,” he commented after a second.  He moved over to set some food in front of Greg, and out of instinct the older man reached out and gently brushed his bicep.  He watched Mycroft freeze, and if not expecting the touch, and they glanced at each other.  Greg’s heart was pounding in his chest.

 

“We should, ah… talk,” Greg suggested with a shrug. Mycroft blinked at him.

 

“Yes, I suppose we should,” he agreed, taking a seat next to him. “I apologize if I escalated things too quickly last night, or if I misread any cues.  I was under the impression that-“

 

“Stop, before you go any further,” Greg interrupted, raising a hand.  Mycroft stared. “Let’s make it clear that I wanted what happened last night.  Moving past that, we need to think about what we’re doing _now_.”

 

Mycroft nodded.  He reached for one of the scones he’d set on the table and put it on a tiny plate, before basically picking it apart and absently eating small bites.

 

“My feelings for you are complicated and confusing and overwhelming.  It’s all rather absurd, really,” Mycroft began to admit.  His expression made it clear that talking about these things was awkward for him. “The whole reason I brought you here was that I could not bear to see yet another attempt on your life.  Even worse, if someone had actually succeeded.  Then, there was last night.  I… I thoroughly enjoyed it, and I find that I want more of that.”

 

“More sex?” Greg asked, unable to keep from chuckling softly.

 

“Well, yes, but…” Mycroft started, before sighing. “I am not making myself clear, I suppose.”

 

“No, I think I get it,” Greg said, shaking his head. “I want more of it too.  More of the sex, yeah, but… Mycroft, last night wasn’t _just_ sex.  I’ve had just sex before, and it was nothing like that.”

 

“Yes, I would be inclined to agree,” the politician nodded.

 

“So, let’s see where this goes, yeah?” Greg suggested. “Maybe… go on a few dates?  See where this leads?  I care about you Mycroft. I guess I always have. I have a soft spot for you Holmes men, but there’s always been something about you that was never there with Sherlock.  This is that something. And I’d like… I’d really like the chance to become more than working colleagues.  More than friends.”

 

“I would like that as well,” Mycroft smiled softly. Greg grinned.

 

“Then, let’s start with breakfast. Then… maybe relax for a bit? Or do you have to go back to work?” He had a hard time keeping the possible disappointment off his face that the thought of being left alone in the house again all day.

 

“I do not,” Mycroft said, and Greg felt relieved.

 

“Then, maybe we can go back to bed after breakfast? See where this goes?” he suggested, grinning.  Mycroft smirked.

 

“Not a bad idea, Gregory.”


	196. Gearing Up

“So everything’s in order then?” Elizabeth Lestrade asked, reclining back in her chair as she waited for Greg to emerge from the dressing room.  He was checking the last fitting of his tux, and it was the most important bloody tux of his life.

 

“I assume so,” he called back to her as he adjusted his cummerbund and reached for his jacket.  He rolled his eyes at his daughter’s laughter, before clarifying. “Mycroft’s been handling most of the planning, Lizzie. I’ve had a few things here and there, but it’s mostly in his court.”

 

“Yeah, that sounds like Myc,” Elizabeth said. Greg’s grin widened.

 

“I expected nothing less,” he said affectionately, buttoning his jacket and adjusting the sleeves.  Then, he turned and walked out. “Well?”

 

Elizabeth was silent for a moment, gazing at her father with her lips parted.  Soon, a huge grin spread on her face, one she clearly inherited from him, and she clapped her hands together in excitement.

 

“You look like a man about to be married,” she giggled, standing and walking over to him.  She inspected things, looking a bit closer, and Greg huffed out a laugh.

 

“Well good, because I am,” he said, tilting his chin proudly. “Do I pass inspection, my dear?”

 

“Hmmm… yes, I think so,” Elizabeth nodded, before winking. “Now come on.  Go change and let’s get out of here.”

 

“What, are we on an agenda?” Greg asked with a laugh, though he was already turning to head back into the small dressing area and put his normal clothes back on.

 

“Maybe.  Just go,” his oldest waved, going to sit back down while he changed.

 

“You know, you don’t have to hang out with your old man all day,” Greg started to say as he was changing.  He took care to hang everything back up very carefully, hanging and folding things the way they were before he put them all on. “I know you’ve got friends and stuff, since you’re in from uni and all that. I’m sure they’d love to see you.”

 

“Da, I want to be here.  You’re about to get _married_. This is a big deal. Besides, you need someone here with you, since Mycroft can’t be.  You’re rubbish at this kind of thing on your own.”

 

“Oy!” he fussed, though Elizabeth did have a point. He really was.

 

Back in his normal clothes and tuxedo bag draped over his shoulder, the two of them headed out.  Elizabeth climbed in the car as Greg was hanging the bag in the backseat, and then off they went.  Lunch was next up, and they were headed to a nearby bakery that they’d all taken a liking to as of late.

 

“So, are you bringing a date to the wedding?” Greg asked once they’d settled in and ordered.  Elizabeth shook her head.

 

“No,” she responded with a shrug. “That one guy didn’t pan out, and I’m… well, there’s a girl I’m kinda interested in, but she doesn’t live in London proper and we’re barely at that stage, so I dunno.”

 

“Well, if you get to that stage, I’d like to meet her,” Greg said, taking a drink of the water that had been brought out. Elizabeth smiled brightly and nodded.

 

“Yeah, course,” she said, drinking her own water. “So, da, how’re you feeling?  About all this. You’re getting married in a few days. Does it… Is it any different from when you and mum got married?”

 

It was a valid question, of course. Greg could tell there was a slightly uncomfortable undertone to her question, watching as Elizabeth shifted in her seat and gazed at her water after asking.  Things were still tense when it came to his ex-wife, and unfortunately it was that way for his oldest daughter as well. She’d been old enough during the divorce to understand what was going on and why, and what had happened… It made it difficult for her to be on good terms with Christina.  Greg hated that, because in the end, she was her mum, but there was nothing to be done about it.

 

“It is,” he said, nodding. “I mean, some of the same feelings are there.  It’s a jittery feeling that just comes with getting married.  Slight impatience, eager for it to happen. Ready.  There’s nerves too, though.  That something might screw up, or lord knows what could get in the way. I think those are a bit more elevated this time ‘round, though, considering Mycroft’s job.”

 

He laughed a bit, showing that he wasn’t entirely serious.  There was always the risk something would come up, but Anthea was in charge of making sure that if it happened, heads would roll and they wouldn’t be bothered. Greg felt like that was the main reason why she hadn’t been picked as Mycroft’s best man, so to speak.

 

“I’m really happy,” Elizabeth said. “I love Mycroft. And I love what he’s done for you. You deserve this, da. And I can’t wait for him to officially be my da as well.”

 

Greg reached across the table and took one of his daughter’s hands, squeezing gently.  He was so happy he could laugh and cry.

 

“That’s one of the most important things to me, Lizzie. Always has been.”

 

“Come on, save your tears for the wedding, yeah?” Elizabeth giggled, teasing, but she squeezed his hand back equally tight as she gazed at her father with so much pride and love Greg’s head was reeling.


	197. Dancing Together

Greg was stretched out along the length of the sofa, reading over some case files and jotting notes for a trial he was expected to attend in a few weeks.  Sure, he could set it aside and not worry about it for a while, but he’d rather have things done and out of the way before he was out of the country for a week. There was no way in hell he was going to be focusing on anything work-related on his honeymoon.

 

His honeymoon.  Mycroft and Greg would be going on their honeymoon. Sometimes it was still so surreal to think about, but yes.  They were getting married.  The wedding was only a few days away now, and there wasn’t much left to be done but wait. It was a relief, because he didn’t have as much of a workload, and there wasn’t as much Mycroft needed to do as well, so they could just spend time and relax when they were both at home.

 

Mycroft had been in his study, finishing up contacting some people, and Greg looked up as he entered the room.

 

“All done?” he asked, shifting his papers and setting everything on the table in front of him.

 

“I am,” Mycroft nodded, smiling gently at his fiancé and walking across the sitting room.  Greg watched him curiously, having expected that he would’ve come to join him on the sofa.  Instead, he was walking over to their entertainment system.  What was he doing?

 

“I had some discussions with the caterer and florist. A few final touches. Everything should be ready,” he continued, powering on their speakers and picking up the small remote that controlled the iPod they had set up there.  Greg arched an eyebrow.

 

“What are you doing?” he asked, tilting his head to the side slightly, trying to peer past Mycroft’s body to see what was going on. He couldn’t make out anything though. His raised eyebrow went up even higher when music started playing, and Mycroft turned to face him with an extremely affectionate look on his face.

 

“Come here,” Mycroft requested, setting the remote down and reaching his hand out, wiggling his fingers beckoningly.

 

“Frank Sinatra?” Greg asked with a chuckle as Fly Me To The Moon was coming out of the speakers.  He did stand, however, and walked over to meet Mycroft in the middle of the sitting room.

 

“Yes,” Mycroft nodded. “I thought you and I might get some dancing practice in.”

 

Greg laughed, eyes shining, as they reached out to each other.  Instantly, Greg settled a hand on the taller man’s shoulder as one was placed on his waist, and they threaded their fingers together as their other hands clasped gently. They moved close to each other, and Greg pressed his forehead against Mycroft’s jaw and closed his eyes as they began to sway back and fourth a bit.

 

“You know, you don’t normally practice slow dancing for your own wedding,” he whispered in amusement, but he didn’t make any movement to step away. “We gonna dance to Sinatra?”

 

“If you would like,” Mycroft said, stroking along Greg’s side. “We can dance to whatever you want, darling.”

 

“Hang on a sec,” he said after a moment, squeezing Mycroft’s hand and stepping away.  He turned to the table and pushed it aside, giving them more room to move. Then, grinning brightly, he stepped back in and reached out for his partner’s hand again, tugging him close. Mycroft’s eyes went wide, not expecting the quicker movement, and for the remainder of the song they switched their lead back and fourth with each other, before Greg wrapped his arm securely around Mycroft’s back and dipped him back a bit.

 

“Gregory,” Mycroft laughed, clinging to the older man a bit more tightly.  Greg leaned in and kissed him gently, before they both straightened.

 

“Here, I’ve got a good one,” Greg said after the song had faded to an end.  He went over to grab the remote and flip though the songs.  Finally, he found what he was looking for and hit play. They resumed their initial positions, and Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s neck to hug a bit closer as they swayed back and fourth again.

 

“ _Never thought I’d fall, but when I hear you call, I’m getting sentimental over you…_ ” Greg started to sing into Mycroft’s ear, nuzzling his cheek. This song had always reminded him of the Holmes brothers, with their aversion to sentiment. It was something he’d never admit out loud to listening to when he was falling for Mycroft, hoping that one day maybe it would fit for them.  Well, it did. It was brilliant.

 

He continued to sing along, sharing gentle kisses with Mycroft in between verses, and towards the end the younger man joined along so they were singing together.  It was absolutely fucking perfect, and Greg could barely contain his love and happiness.  He was bloody well marrying this brilliant man.

 

“ _Won’t you please be kind, and just make up your mind, that you’ll be sweet and gentle, be gentle with me.  ‘Cause I’m getting sentimental over you._ ”


	198. Brotherly Bonding

The stag night.  It was a traditional thing for men before they get married: a final night of insanity before the supposed confinement of the wedding ring. It made sense in theory, as it was always used as a reason for a group of guys to just go out and drink and apparently visit a strip club. 

 

The stag night tradition is what currently had Mycroft standing in the middle of 221B’s sitting room, with Sherlock staring at him awkwardly.

 

“So,” he prompted, adjusting his umbrella and tapping it on the rug.

 

“You don’t honestly expect us to…” Sherlock commented, waving his hand around in the air suggestively.

 

“Hardly,” Mycroft responded, arching an eyebrow. “If you’ll recall, it’s our other halves that have us in this position right now.”

 

“Indeed.  John said it would be good for us, whatever he means by that,” Sherlock snorted.

 

“Doctor Watson and Gregory work in mysterious ways,” Mycroft sighed. “I suppose since they are partaking in stag night festivities, they thought we needed to as well.”

 

“It’s ridiculous,” Sherlock sneered.

 

“I’m inclined to agree,” Mycroft nodded. A bit of silence fell between them again. “However, I did bring scotch.”

 

Sherlock regarded his brother with that statement, as if pondering the offer that was essentially put out on the table. He plucked at the violin in his hands before sighing and setting it down, leaning it against the chair and sighing.

 

“Fine, let’s have scotch.”

 

 Two hours and a bottle of scotch later, Sherlock and Mycroft were sitting in the chairs in the sitting room, violin and umbrella both discarded. They were both fairly tolerant when it came to alcohol, at least in comparison to others, but it had loosened them enough that they were oddly comfortable in each other’s presence currently.

 

“I hope you’re not expecting me to make a speech tomorrow,” Sherlock said, pointing at Mycroft and staring at him hard.

 

“Lord no,” Mycroft laughed softly, shaking his head. “I don’t believe I’ll be heartbroken that you don’t.”

 

“We should play Operation.”

 

“Again?” Mycroft asked, arching an eyebrow.

 

“ _Fine_ , never mind,” Sherlock huffed, crossing his arms in a very childlike way. It warmed Mycroft’s heart a bit unexpectedly, reminding him of a time in their lives when they were much closer. He couldn’t help but smile slightly. Sherlock clearly noticed, but chose not to comment.

 

“This isn’t so bad, you know,” Mycroft said after another few moments of silence, sipping his scotch.

 

“This?”

 

“You and I,” Mycroft clarified, pointing between them. “Like how things used to be.”

 

“I assure you neither of us were ever drunk,” Sherlock said, and Mycroft sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

“You know exactly what I am referring to, Sherlock,” he huffed.

 

“I do, and I think the Detective Inspector has made you go soft.”

 

“You say that like Doctor Watson has not had the same effect on you.”

 

“Hmm.”

 

Mycroft stared into his almost empty glass, glancing at the bottle on the table that had been pulled between them. Also empty.  He couldn’t remember the last time he and Sherlock had shared a drink like this.  Occasionally, with his brother, he found himself experiencing regret that things weren’t different between them.  Nothing would change, and he knew that, but there were times that he dearly missed the closeness of the wide-eyed little boy that made sure to be within five footsteps of his older brother.

 

“You’re getting married tomorrow,” Sherlock said, staring at him.  Mycroft blinked.

 

“I am,” he nodded, arching his eyebrow again. “This is rather the point of all this.”

 

“I know that, of course,” Sherlock sighed, leaning forward and setting down his equally empty glass. “I am just saying that I honestly never expected it.”

 

“Neither did I,” Mycroft smirked, though it was a bit sad.  Before Gregory, he had never cared about emotional attachment, or the prospect of spending his life with another human being.  But now… Now he was getting married.  Even more, he was ready and excited.  Perhaps also a bit nervous.

 

“I’ll never understand how the two of us found such… ordinary people,” Sherlock said, still staring at the table.

 

“Even more than that, ordinary people that are somehow so extraordinary,” Mycroft added. “How would we have found them otherwise?”

 

Another stretch of silence.  Mycroft glanced at his mobile.

 

“Well, I should head home.  Gregory is very adamant on the two of us not spending the night together, so I assume he will be coming back here,” he commented, standing and stretching with a soft grunt. “So I should make my way before the two of them come stumbling in.”

 

He wandered over to pick up his umbrella, and started to head towards the door.  He paused as he heard another set of footsteps behind him.

 

“Regardless of everything,” Sherlock said, voice a bit tense.  Mycroft stopped and glanced over his shoulder.

 

“Yes?” he prompted when the younger Holmes didn’t continue.  Sherlock took a deep breath, pressing his lips together in a thin line.

 

“I am grateful that you are happy.”

 

Mycroft felt a strange warmth that hadn’t been associated with Sherlock in a long time.  They gazed at each other, and he smiled.  Part of him wanted to reach out for his brother, but he feared any touch would break the moment, and he wanted to treasure it for what it was.

 

“Brother mine, it means more to me than I can properly express.”

 

The corner of Sherlock’s mouth twitched in a slight smile (a rare sight that Mycroft was unsure he would see again for quite a while), and he nodded.  They didn’t say another word, and Mycroft nodded at him briefly before turning and heading down the steps of 221B.


	199. The Best Stag Night

The night had been utter insanity. John took Greg to a strip club, starting out. They’d joked about how it was really their last chance to see some revealing female bodies before he tied the knot with Mycroft.  Besides, neither of them had been to one in ages, so why the hell not?

 

After leaving the Holmes boys alone together, they’d grabbed a quick bite to eat before heading to the club.  There, the alcohol flowed.  Drinks were being set in front of Greg and he was gladly drinking them. John hadn’t bought all of them, either. On the announcement of it being a stag night, more drinks arrived along with a very lovely lady who said she would be giving them her _personal_ attention.

 

John bought Greg a (really fucking good) lap dance before he could stop him.

 

Sally showed up not long after with a few of the other officers from the Yard in tow.  Greg grinned brightly as he waved them over, grateful to see them all. Everyone slipped into fun, comfortable conversation, and a few more minutes of the woman who’d performed his lap dance were enjoyed before Sally was dragging him out of the booth.

 

“Change of venue,” she shouted over the music with a bright grin.  Greg had no idea what she had in mind, but John was quickly joining, also grinning, and everyone else trickled along in interest.

 

What Sally chose not to mention was that the change in venue meant a completely different strip club.  While Greg wasn’t all that surprised, he also hadn’t expected to be coming here.  Neither had the rest of the officers, apparently, as they looked a bit unsure at first. But two rounds of shots later, no one seemed to be any wiser.

 

“This is more your taste, after all,” Sally smirked, winking. “And mine.  Thought it would be appropriate.”

 

“Yeah it is,” Greg agreed as they stared up at the male strippers. They were gorgeous, wearing nothing more than banana hammocks, and Greg was grinning ear to ear. What a great fucking night this was turning out to be.

 

The men were more handsy than the women had been at the previous bar.  It was quite hilarious.  Even PC Daniels was getting into it, and he was such a ladies man it wasn’t even funny. Greg tugged out his mobile to snap some pictures.  Sally pointed and laughed, and he turned to where PC Adams was totally making out with a very androgynous individual.  Amazing. He snapped some more pictures.

 

He paid a bit of attention to his mobile after that, switching to his messages and wondering how Mycroft’s night was faring. He missed him a lot. Licking his lips, he pulled up their text thread, thumb hovering over the keys, when John was shoving a drink into his hand.

 

“Put that up,” he instructed with a tilt of his head and a smile. “Tomorrow the two of you start the whole rest of your lives. This is your night, Greg. Now let’s fucking party.”

 

Greg grinned and nodded.  Yeah, John was right.  Pocketing his mobile as instructed, he focused on his drink and his friends around him.  Then tomorrow, he was getting married to the love of his life.  Really, it was all so perfect.

 

The next thing Greg remembered was very unsuccessfully stumbling up the steps to 221B, grabbing onto John for dear life. The room was spinning, and they were both laughing, and John kept shushing him because Mrs. Hudson was probably asleep. By the time they finally fell into the sitting room, Sherlock was staring at them like they were insane.

 

“You two are drunk,” he commented, stepping away from the window where he’d been standing.  Greg snorted.

 

“Y’we are,” he slurred with a snort.

 

“Go to bed.”

 

“I’ll take _you_ to bed,” John smirked, pointing at Sherlock.  The detective rolled his eyes.

 

“You are both incredibly wasted. John, attempting sex with me tonight would prove a bit more difficult than normal.  Both of you go to sleep.”

 

Turning, Sherlock strode through the kitchen and hallway towards his bedroom.  John watched him, clearly about to join.

 

“I’ll kip on the sofa yeah?” Greg asked, swaying just slightly.

 

“Spare bed’s still upstairs,” John pointed.

 

“Don’t trust more stairs,” Greg giggled, practically falling onto the sofa and stretching out instantly.  He nuzzled into the cushions, curling up against the back of it and letting his eyes fall shut.  He heard John stumble to bed as well, and was almost asleep when his mobile chimed in his pocket.

 

It took a lot for him to get it out, fumbling with the small thing quite a few times before finally getting to read the text.

 

_Tomorrow we are united.  I very much look forward to it, and I hope you had an excellent night tonight.  –MH_

Grinning stupidly, Greg had every intent to reply, but he was passed out before he could even start typing.


	200. Wedding Day

The day had finally arrived.  There had been months of planning, and Elizabeth had watched it all from the sidelines (and some of it right in the middle). Finally, though, the result of all that hard work and organizing had come to this amazing moment.

 

Sitting in the front row, she gazed at the two men standing in front of her.  Everything was simple, from the ceremony down to the decorations.  Neither her father nor stepfather was very over-the-top when it came to _anything_. It suited them perfectly. She tried not to audibly sigh as she watched them both reach out and join their hands together, repeating the words being spoken out by the officiant.

 

Elizabeth could not recall a time where she had seen a happier look on her father’s face than when he was with Mycroft. In this moment, he looked so happy he could burst.  She didn’t miss the way his eyes glistened with unshed tears, or the way his voice trembled just slightly as he spoke his vows.  She also didn’t miss the way Mycroft squeezed his hands, as composed as ever, but still giving back the most genuine smile throughout the entire ceremony.

 

She was on her feet, cheering and clapping when they kissed.  She watched Greg hop up on his toes and wrap his arms around Mycroft’s neck, pressing close as arms were wrapped around his middle in return.  Abby was off to the side bouncing and grinning, where she had been standing after very successfully fulfilling her duties as flower girl.

 

Once everyone was ushered into the reception area and food was being set out, Elizabeth made her way over to the small table where the newlyweds were.  Grinning brightly, she ran and practically jumped into her father’s arms in a huge hug.

 

“You almost made me cry, da,” she said, laughing, as Greg twirled her around a bit before setting her down. It wasn’t something he did as often anymore since she was getting too big, but every now and again…

 

“M’sorry,” he grinned brightly, and she only smirked back.

 

“Only because you were,” she teased. Greg’s lips parted, and he looked taken aback.

 

“Oh please, I did _not_ cry,” he protested.

 

“My dear, I believe I have to side with Elizabeth on this one,” came Mycroft’s voice next to her.  Turning, she hugged him tightly as well.

 

“I’m so happy,” she whispered, squeezing tightly. She heard as Mycroft huffed out gentle laughter.

 

“I am as well,” he whispered back. He tucked hair behind her ear, before glancing at Greg, who was still pouting playfully, insisting that he was getting ganged up on, because he was certainly not crying.

 

Leaving them alone, she made her way to grab food and settle in.  She watched as Doctor Watson was forcing Sherlock to eat, giggling at the way he protested and crossed his arms.  Everyone was having a great time, though.  It was so amazing to see all these people celebrating, and for both Greg and Mycroft to be enjoying themselves so much.

 

After food John made a speech, and Sherlock stood up long enough to announce that he would not be making a speech. Elizabeth couldn’t tell if that or the look Mycroft gave immediately after got more laughter. There was cake and toasting then, each of the men very carefully feeding each other a piece.  This part definitely seemed like it was something her father had insisted on, because she could tell Mycroft was putting on a brave face, but that he didn’t really see the point of these rituals. It was still adorable.

 

Her favorite part, however, was what happened next. The first dance.

 

The entire mood changed when the song started. It wasn’t a song Elizabeth was familiar with, but that really didn’t matter.  The lights shifted and the focus was on the two of them, holding hands and wrapped in each other’s embrace.  Every now and then they would kiss, and they were clearly talking softly to each other. Greg was laughing, and Mycroft was gazing at him as if he was the most important part of the universe.

 

Elizabeth almost cried here as well.

 

She partially noticed her little sister walking up and standing beside her, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the couple. Her father had started singing, gazing up at Mycroft with a permanent smile on his face.  Mycroft was lifting a hand to cup his cheek, and they were swaying, and they were kissing, and it was _beautiful_.

 

“We have two daddies now,” Abby said softly. Elizabeth glanced down at her long enough to see that she was gazing out at them as well, looking practically enchanted.  Smiling, Elizabeth nodded.

 

“We sure do,” she whispered back, resting a hand on Abby’s shoulder and squeezing gently. “They look beautiful.”

 

“I’m so proud.”

 

Elizabeth blinked.  She honestly hadn’t expected her 11-year-old sister to say something like that.  Happy, yes. Excited, definitely. But proud?  Not so much.  It was accurate, though.  She could feel the exact same thing swelling in her chest, and nodding, she turned to gaze back as the dance was coming to an end.

 

“Yeah,” she said with another squeeze to the smaller Lestrade girl’s shoulder. “Me too.”


	201. Those Hips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't lie. LOL. I was so tempted to call the chapter that, but I just couldn't. Not today, Shakira. Anyway! I just wanted to express my immense gratitude for the response of yesterday's chapter. I'd never written in Elizabeth's perspective like that before, and admittedly, I struggled with it for a bit. Thanks to ianuk, rachelbermel, Ruxie, iamtheparadoxoflife, and HumsHappily for your amazing and heartwarming comments, and for making me feel more confident about what I'd written. And, as always, thanks to every single one of you for continuing to read these silly little things. I love you all.

Gregory Lestrade was an impossible man to resist. It was absurd for him to be as distracting as he was… Honestly though, that was about as far as Mycroft’s train of thought allowed him to go as he stared at the older man. He was leaning against the doorframe to the bedroom, arms crossed and clad in nothing but his pants. Said pants were resting low on his body, and the smirk on his face made it clear that had been highly intentional.

 

“You make it immensely difficult to concentrate, Gregory,” Mycroft said, his pale eyes running up and down the frankly gorgeous body his partner had.  He was quite certain he had been starting to prepare notes for a meeting with the Prime Minister, but…

 

“Then I would consider this successful,” came the older man’s sly reply.  Mycroft couldn’t help but allow the corner of his mouth to twitch up into a smile at that.

 

“Mmmm, my dear, you are _always_ successful,” Mycroft retorted, standing and walking across the room to where Gregory was standing.  They gazed into each other’s eyes, neither of them speaking, until Gregory licked his lips.  That broke whatever stunned spell Mycroft had been under and he tilted his head down to lock their lips together in a passionate kiss.

 

With an eager hum, Gregory pressed closer. Mycroft reached out and settled his hands on bare skin, tracing right above the waistband of his pants. He felt the older man shiver under the touch, parting his lips to allow Mycroft to deepen the kiss even further.

 

No matter where they started to kiss each other, or where Gregory began to touch, Mycroft continued to keep his own hands on his hips.  He traced the smooth skin and the muscles there, mapping them out and memorizing them. He ran the pads of his fingers along the curve of his hipbones; he was eager to explore the way they jutted out as he arched into the touch.

 

“It’s maddening how breathtaking you are,” Mycroft muttered against the older man’s lips.  He felt as they turned up into a smile.

 

“Maddening?” Gregory repeated, giggling breathlessly. Mycroft pulled back to stare down at him again.

 

“Oh yes.”

 

Without another word, he slid down onto his knees so that his eyes were level with the other man’s stomach. He heard Gregory gasp, and it was a beautiful sound.  He wished he would be able to bottle that sound up and keep it forever, as irrational and ridiculous that kind of thought was.  Quickly, he turned his attention to the hipbones that he just couldn’t get enough of. Continuing to stroke his skin, he leaned in and brushed his nose along the edge of his waistband.

 

“Myc,” Gregory said softly, his breath hitching at the touch.  Mycroft breathed deeply, taking in his scent, and definitely not missing the way he had become hard in his pants.  He would be sure that got all the attention it deserved and more, but for now…

 

Wrapping an arm around his partner and pressing a hand flat against his back, he brushed his lips along the prominent line of Gregory’s hipbone.  He breathed on the skin, feeling his love shiver and noting the goosebumps that began to cover the area. Amazing.  He started pressing kisses to the area, and letting his tongue slip out and taste as well.  Gregory whimpered.

 

“Mycroft,” he repeated, an even more obvious hint of desperation now in his voice.

 

“Patience, my dear,” Mycroft whispered, stroking his other hipbone as he continued to kiss the one his mouth was against. Kissing up and down, as he arrived back at the waistband of his pants, Mycroft latched onto Gregory’s hipbone and began sucking.

 

Gregory cried out softly, one of his hands quickly settling on Mycroft’s head and sliding into his hair.  He didn’t grab, not hard, but it was enough so he could ground himself.  Mycroft would smirk if he weren’t immensely focused on the task at hand.  He continued sucking, intent on marking the tan skin beautifully.

 

“Mycroft, _please,_ ” the older man was practically begging now.  He arched into the touch, trembling, and making the most delicious noises.  Mycroft really couldn’t think of a more perfect description for it.

 

“Very well,” he muttered against the already-bruised skin, nuzzling there gently.  Shifting both hands, he squeezed Gregory’s arse securely, pressing their bodies together, and stood long enough to drag his partner over to the bed so they could continue and escalate their activities in the manner neither of them could resist any longer.


	202. Stargazing

Greg had spent a lot of his life looking up at the night sky.  He never purposefully stargazed, nor did he study the constellations and planets past the basics that were required in school.  He couldn’t recognize the shapes by name, or point them out at random. He knew the phases of the moon, but at certain points, he couldn’t as easily distinguish them. However, he gazed up anyway.

 

There was a peace to the night sky. He let it cover him like a large, black blanket, and it allowed him to stop thinking about whatever insanity had been going on in his life.  Even for a few moments, there was nothing except stars.  For a few moments, he wouldn’t have a care in the world and everything was okay.

 

Now, stargazing had a completely different meaning to him.  Most things in his life had a different meaning now.  This was a good thing.  It was… just brilliant. But now, he was not alone as he stared up at the sky.  Now, he was not the only one who would lie out on the cool grass (much to his initial surprise) and gaze. Sometimes there was complete silence between them.  Sometimes, Greg wouldn’t say a word while Mycroft talked about astronomy.  It was all so brilliant.

 

“Talk to me about the constellations?” he whispered one night, half an hour after Mycroft had joined him out in the grass. He’d had an incredibly awful day, and instead of ending in the capture of a criminal, it had ended with yet another dead body.  The politician had been able to tell instantly, Greg figured, when he came home, changed, and headed across the street to the small park near their home with barely a word.

 

“If you would like,” came Mycroft’s gentle reply.

 

“I really would,” Greg nodded. He needed a distraction, and he needed to hear that wonderful voice.

 

“Very well.” Shifting close, Mycroft raised an arm and started pointing up at the sky. “Do you see that set of stars right over there?”

 

Greg rolled onto his side slightly and pressed against his partner, resting his head on his shoulder so he could better see where Mycroft was pointing.  He looked hard, and finally started to see what the younger man was motioning too.

 

“The odd square and the squiggles?” he asked. Mycroft chuckled softly.

 

“Indeed.  That’s Pegasus.  The odd square, as you say, is the body, with that triangle being the head,” he explained, tracing the lines as he spoke.  Greg followed his outstretched finger, seeing what all he was referring to.

 

“And the squiggles are the legs?” he asked, turning his head to glance at Mycroft.

 

“They are.  Though they’re more crammed together this time of year than others, so it can be more difficult to notice if you’re unsure.”

 

“What’s right next to it?” he asked, lifting his arm to settle next to Mycroft’s and point.  Their hands brushed briefly, and it made his stomach flutter. He licked his lips before continuing. “Doesn’t really look like a star.  Too… big and fuzzy.”

 

“You’re right, Gregory.  It’s not,” Mycroft confirmed.  Turning his wrist slightly, he hooked their fingers together briefly. “That’s Andromeda.  It’s the nearest large galaxy to our own.  Even still, the light we are seeing from it took two millions years to reach our line of sight.”

 

Greg huffed out a breath.  It was just insane.  It was one of the things he loved about everything up in the sky. It all seemed so timeless to him, but in reality, there was so much time involved in all of it.  It was just amazing to him.

 

“What’s above Ursa Minor?” he asked, pointing up again. It was one of the few he remembered, though he would’ve felt stupid not to have.  It _was_ the Little Dipper after all. He didn’t call it that anymore, of course, because of how embarrassed he’d felt the first time he used that nickname around Mycroft, but still.

 

“That is Draco.”

 

“As in dragon, right?”

 

“Exactly, Gregory.” The hand that had been pointing out stars shifted, wrapping around Greg’s body so Mycroft could start stroking his hair.  Greg felt himself become much less tense, and he sighed softly through his nose.  It felt so good.  This was all exactly what he needed after the day he’d had.  He couldn’t understand how Mycroft always seemed to know exactly what to do, but he did, and it was the most wonderful, loving thing in the world.

 

“Next to Draco is the constellation Cepheus,” Mycroft continued after a moment.  He was no longer pointing them out, which was fine because Greg really wasn’t looking.  He was just focusing on each smooth word coming off his partner’s lips and the slender fingers running along his scalp. “Cepheus was the king of Aethiopia.  He was Andromeda’s father, which we were just looking at of course, and was also married to Cassiopeia, which is beneath it and to the right slightly.”

 

“So they’ll always be together then,” Greg whispered, curling into Mycroft’s body a bit more and breathing deeply. Mycroft hummed.

 

“Yes, they certainly will, my love.” The statement was followed by nothing more than a light kiss into Greg’s hair, and it was all absolutely perfect.


	203. A Noble Affair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a prompt for a Downton Abbey-like AU last night. After spending the day watching Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice. Amazing coincidence, that. So, this was born from it, and it's the first time I've written something in this kind of time period, so hopefully it's not awful.

Being in an aristocratic family called for many expectations in one’s life, and they were all rather exhausting. Granted, they enjoyed luxuries others could not, and it could be an easier life than the common folk or the poor, but in some ways, it could be even worse. 

 

Mycroft Holmes was coming of the age where many expectations were now being put upon him as the oldest heir to the estate. His father’s health was declining, so the outcome was inevitable at this point, and unfortunately, escalating quicker than the eldest boy would prefer.  His mother was hounding on him to request a woman’s hand, and it was so _tedious_.  All of the women Mummy had picked out for him were beyond dull, and he could never stand to be around them for more than half an hour before he wanted to spout off an unnecessary amount of observations that would warrant him a smack in the face, for sure.

 

What made all of this even more frustrating and difficult was that his heart was spoken for already.  It was, however, a union that was carried out in secret, in the dark of night, and could never become more than it was.  This wasn’t uncommon in noble families, and it was something Mycroft could spot with anyone when they were with their suitors at any kind of social gathering.  It was rare that a marriage was actually born out of love, though slightly more common that love would come later.  It was not always a guarantee, though.  However, there were always a variety of torrid affairs that could cause scandal on the family’s name if they were revealed.

 

Unfortunately, he was in one of them.

 

“What’s going on in that brilliant head of yours?” a rough voice asked quietly, and lips were pressed to Mycroft’s forehead. He closed his eyes, sighing through his nose, and wrapped his arms around the naked body of the man lying over him, pulling him close.

 

“Nothing you need to concern yourself over, Gregory,” he responded, running his slender hand up the man’s smooth back and tilting his head to gaze into gentle brown eyes for a moment. He watched the change in his features as the candlelight flickered next to them.

 

Gregory Lestrade was a footman employed by Mycroft’s father years ago.  They were both much younger when he was brought on, but it was clear he showed promise and he worked very hard. It was partially due to their closeness in age, but after a few years he was promoted to Mycroft’s personal footman. It was then that they not only had a working relationship, but also a friendship that had developed. Mycroft hadn’t counted on falling in love.

 

“You worry too much,” Gregory whispered, cupping his cheek.  Mycroft blinked, staring up at him, and sighed through his nose.

 

“Mummy is getting more insufferable about finding someone for me to court,” he mumbled, reaching up to run his fingers through Gregory’s dark, slightly curled hair.  His dear footman leaned into the touch, turned to press a kiss into his palm.

 

“I know,” he sighed. “Believe me, I know.”

 

“Just as you are aware there’s nothing I can do, about…”

 

“I know, Mycroft, it’s okay,” Gregory said with a frown, before he could finish that sentence. 

 

It was an area of pain for them both. Were Mycroft not of noble blood, this situation wouldn’t be as difficult.  Sure, in most societies, an established same-sex relationship was frowned upon and extremely uncommon, but it did happen. They did not have that freedom, however. Mycroft would be expected to produce offspring to continue the Holmes line, which Gregory clearly could not assist him with.  Were they to come out as a couple, he would most likely be shunned and kicked out, left to his own devices with no means or funds available to him.  He would be a black sheep.

 

“I wish I could find a way…” Mycroft admitted, feeling insecure as he spoke the words.  Gregory blinked at him, being the first he’d heard this kind of confession, and he started to smile.  That smile was dear to Mycroft’s heart.

 

“Listen, it’s really okay,” Gregory said. “None of this will change how in love with you I am.  Nor will I ever leave your employ.  You never know, maybe we can even find you a wife that could be okay with our relationship.  That does happen.”

 

“We would have to be incredibly lucky,” Mycroft started to protest, not daring to get his hopes up.  A finger was pressed against his lips before he could continue.

 

“We already are,” Gregory said, before leaning in to kiss Mycroft gently.  The posh man returned the gesture eagerly, and the kiss deepened, and they clutched to each other like their lives depended on it.

 

Could he find a wife that would be okay with this kind of arrangement?  Could he find someone understanding enough that could set up something mutually beneficial to them both, and he could still have Gregory not only in his heart but also in his bed?

 

He would be damn lucky if he could. But perhaps it would be worth keeping in mind.  While he was just a footman, Gregory gave Mycroft a strength and optimism he’d never known before, and surrounded by his amazing love, he felt invincible.


	204. The Perfect Dinner

Mycroft had never expected dinner to go that well in his entire life.  When Gregory had first suggested the evening, he hadn’t been very sure on how it would go. It was admittedly tense at first, too, with Gregory and John doing most of the conversation over their food. Halfway through, however, Sherlock got pulled into the conversation, and from there it had… gotten nice.

 

Mycroft and Sherlock had a political debate that had affected the most recent case Gregory had put on his plate while their partners were washing up.  More than once, Mycroft caught them smiling and listening out of the corner of his eye. As with most matters like that, he and Sherlock disagreed on a lot, except for the stupidity of people. They always tended to have an odd bond over that fact of life.  They were a strange pair and some days Mycroft still marveled over how they were able to find partners so ordinary and yet so extraordinary at the same time. It was almost too good to be true.

 

After everything was finished from dinner, Mycroft opened a bottle of wine and everyone shifted into the sitting room. The windows were open and the last of the sunset was peeking through, but with darkness approaching, Gregory went over and started up a fire.  Mycroft watched from the sofa with a small smile on his face, admiring the older man he adored so much.

 

John wandered across to sit in the armchair across from the sofa, and naturally, Sherlock crawled onto his lap and let his legs dangle off the sides.

 

“For heaven’s sake, Sherlock, you’re too tall to sit appropriately like that,” Mycroft sighed, shaking his head before taking a sip of wine.  Sherlock huffed at him, and John laughed.

 

“He does this at home too, it’s hard inconvenient,” the doctor beamed, rubbing Sherlock’s back.

 

Once the fire was tended to and burning nicely, Gregory came to join Mycroft on the sofa.  They sat next to each other, though the older man curled his legs up under him and leaned against Mycroft.  He wrapped an arm around Gregory’s shoulders, turning to press a gentle kiss to his temples.

 

Discussion started up again after that, and very soon all four of them were contributing to it.  It was comfortable conversation, easily switching from one topic to another, and it was rare that silence vibrated through the room. In the moments that it did, it was comfortable silence.  They quickly and easily drank through the wine that had been opened, so Mycroft excused himself briefly to retrieve a second bottle for them to work on as well.

 

The conversation got warmer and a bit more random as the night went on.  There was easy laughter ringing through the room.  Finally, as Gregory and John started talking about something that had happened in a recent football match, Mycroft allowed himself to space just enough to marvel at everything around him.  This was his family. He and Sherlock, and their loving partners, and they had enjoyed a full evening together without incident. He turned to watch Gregory’s face, lit up with excitement over something Arsenal did, and he just admired the man in his arms.  It was something he never thought to have been possible, and yet here they were.

 

There was a pause as Sherlock slowly started to detangle himself from John’s lap in the chair and stretch, setting down his wine glass.

 

“I’m going to take Redbeard out for a walk, have a cigarette,” he told John, before glancing towards the sofa.

 

Blinking, Mycroft turned and followed his little brother’s line of sight as well.  At the other end of the sofa he and Gregory were sitting on, sure enough, the Irish Setter was curled up and wagging his tail excitedly.  Mycroft blinked again.  This wasn’t right.  No, Redbeard had been…

 

“Mycroft,” Sherlock said, and Mycroft glanced at him. But suddenly everything felt off. This wasn’t right. “Want a smoke?”

 

Mycroft opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.  All noise around him seemed to cease.  Conversation became distant and fuzzy.  The warmth and companionship he’d felt was disappearing.  What was happening?  Furrowing his brow, Mycroft closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

 

When he opened them, he wasn’t in the sitting room. No, he was lying in his bed, staring up at the ceiling.  The room was dark. He blinked a few times and rubbed at his face with a groan.  Rolling onto his side slightly, he stretched his arm out across the bed.

 

He was alone.  The side of the bed next to him was empty.  Everything was silent.  There was no companionship, there had been no dinner, and there was no relationship. His relationship with Sherlock was as strained as ever, and Gregory was not…

 

Swallowing, Mycroft tugged the duvet up and over his head. He was alone.  Admittedly, that dream had been everything he realized he wanted. How was it that the best dreams could turn into the most painful thoughts?


	205. Falling Asleep

After a dinner date at one of the nicer restaurants in the area, Mycroft and Gregory took a quiet walk through a nearby park. It was night, and therefor the park wasn’t very busy, so they enjoyed the closeness they had with each other. Halfway through the walk, Mycroft felt a hand brush his.  His heart leapt up in his throat and he had to force himself to keep walking, though he did glance over at the man walking next to him.

 

He didn’t have the courage to make the move himself, but it didn’t seem to matter because after a few moments, Gregory made the move for him.  Their hands brushed together again, before their palms pressed together and their fingers were becoming entangled in one another.  Mycroft felt almost dizzy at the affection.  The two of them had only been dating for about a month now, and these casual touches were things he quite yet hadn’t gotten used to yet.  While he was enjoying it, his first instinct was to pull away, because he wasn’t too fond of public displays of affection still, but… The park was rather empty.  And they _were_ just holding hands. It would be okay.

 

After circling around once and a half, they slowed and Gregory was squeezing his hand gently.

 

“Shall we go to yours, Gregory?” Mycroft asked. The older man’s flat was closer, though they often went back to Mycroft’s.  He could even see the hesitation in the man then.

 

“I suppose we can,” he shrugged, smiling unconvincingly.

 

“You know there’s nothing about your flat that bothers me,” Mycroft said gently, reaching to grasp Gregory’s bicep reassuringly. The smile that followed was much more genuine, and he nodded.

 

“Okay,” he agreed, and they turned and headed that way. They walked instead of taking the car, since they were already so close.  Before they’d gotten together Mycroft had never walked anywhere if he could help it.  He’d never had a reason to, not when he had a car.  Now… Now it was entirely different.

 

Gregory’s house was small and, in the older man’s words, nothing to write home about.  It was small, and there weren’t very many personal effects lining the shelves or decorating the walls.  However, it seemed to suit the Detective Inspector.  It made sense for a man who worked a lot and who had become recently divorced. Gregory clearly hated bringing him here, but Mycroft never once batted an eye at their surroundings.

 

After sharing a drink, they made their way over to the sofa and settled down next to each other.  Gregory turned on the television across from them and flipped around, stopping for a few moments on a news channel before deciding to continue. Mycroft was a bit grateful. While he did prefer keeping up with what was being reported on a daily basis, this was a date night. This was their time, and news reports dealt too closely to both their jobs for it to be a casual viewing. Mycroft leaned close, their biceps and thighs pressing together gently, reaching out to settle a hand on his knee and rub gently.

 

Finally, the older man stopped it on what looked like a very dramatic crime drama that was at the height of its plot. It was all rather cheesy, and Mycroft smirked just slightly, but it would do. 

 

“They’d never do it like that. _We_ don’t do it like that,” Gregory muttered after a moment, gesturing at the television at what an officer was doing in the interrogation room.

 

“It’s all for dramatic effect, my dear,” Mycroft commented, pale eyes shining in amusement at the criticism his dear Detective Inspector couldn’t help but give.

 

They continued watching, and of course Gregory continued to either agree with or criticize whatever they were viewing, and Mycroft kind of adored it.  It was really cute of the older man when it was he who had picked the programme. Mycroft could also tell that he was really enjoying watching it, despite its inaccuracy.

 

After a while, Gregory yawned loudly, and he shifted away from Mycroft enough to draw his attention.  He was starting to open his mouth to say something when he watched as Gregory shifted and started to stretch out along the couch. He settled his head on Mycroft’s lap, before turning to gaze up at him.

 

“This okay?” he asked softly. Mycroft gazed down at him and nodded. He was already there, so of course it was okay.  Not that Mycroft would have denied the action anyway.  Lifting a hand, he hesitated before beginning to stroke his soft, silvery hair. Gregory hummed and pressed even closer.

 

Mycroft turned his attention back to the television, watching the programme quietly and continuing to stroke the older man’s hair.  After a little while, he felt Gregory’s breathing become more even.  Blinking, he glanced down to see that Gregory was no longer awake.

 

He blinked again.  He’d never… seen the older man asleep before.  His hand stilled for a moment and he just admired the relaxed face of the man lying in his lap, and he smiled.  Taking a slow, deep breath, he continued stroking his hair, no longer paying attention to the crime drama.

 

This felt so right.  He was unsure that he could effectively be in a relationship, but… there was less and less room for doubt.  It was beyond lovely.


	206. Food Poisoning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight trigger warning, I suppose. There is discussion of vomiting in this chapter. It's not in great detail, because I personally have a minor case of emetophobia, but for anyone who happens to share it or has it more severely than I do, I just wanted there to be a warning before you dived into the chapter.

Greg realized within an hour of eating lunch that he probably shouldn’t have.  He should’ve stayed in his office and waited until he’d gotten home that evening to fix dinner.  He’d been hungry though, and the little fast food place had been real convenient…

 

Now, however, he was on his knees in the bathroom, clutching onto the toilet for dear life.  Every part of him ached, and he had tears in his eyes, and his entire stomach felt like it was being turned inside out.  It just _hurt_. He couldn’t stand throwing up (not like he knew anyone who could, but still), and every time he did it again he prayed it was the last.

 

Finally, there was nothing left to expel. It was then that he was no longer alone, and there was a soothing hand rubbing across his back.

 

“Gregory, darling,” Mycroft whispered. Greg was trembling and panting, eyes closed because it felt like his head was spinning and he was afraid it would just make him get sick again.

 

“Myc…” he finally said weakly. His voice was trembling as much as his body was, and it almost didn’t sound like his own.

 

“It’s okay,” the younger man said before Greg could try and say anything else. “Let’s get you in bed, all right?”

 

Greg tried to nod.  He wasn’t sure if he succeeded.  He was afraid to let go of the toilet.  It took Mycroft kneeling down behind him and wrapping his slender, cool hands around his wrist and gently pulling him into his body.  Greg whimpered, panting slowly.

 

“I’ve got you, Gregory,” Mycroft whispered into his ear.  Greg nodded. He believed the younger man.

 

Slowly, Mycroft pulled Greg to standing. He could feel his knees shaking, and if it weren’t for the fact that he was leaning his entire weight against his partner, he knew he’d be on the floor again in a heartbeat. With shaking fingers he clutched at Mycroft’s sleeves, swaying into him a bit.

 

“I’ve got you,” Mycroft repeated, moving to wrap an arm around his waist and support him better. 

 

It took longer than was ever necessary to get out of the bathroom and over to the bed, but eventually Greg was sitting on the edge of the bed.  He exhaled shakily, blinking his eyes open and bracing himself as his vision swam momentarily. Mycroft was kneeling on the floor in front of him.

 

“I’m getting you undressed, okay Gregory?” he was saying, keeping that same soft, gentle voice that soothed Greg. He licked his chapped lips and managed the slightest nod. “My poor dear.  You’re sweating so much.”

 

It didn’t surprise him.  He felt so hot.  Greg was basically limp as Mycroft undressed him until he was down in his pants. Then, the younger man was helping him stretch out along the bed.  Greg sighed, closing his eyes and sinking into the pillow.

 

“You ate at that small place next to the Yard, didn’t you?” Mycroft asked after a moment.  His fingers were in Greg’s slightly damp hair.

 

“Mmmm,” Greg managed, not really able to form words at present.  It was enough of a confirmation for his partner, though.

 

“It would be best if you avoid it in the future.”

 

Greg huffed.  It would’ve been laughter if he’d had the strength.  He wouldn’t be going there for quite a while, that was for sure. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this sick.  He sighed, turning into the touch, craving the attention desperately.

 

“I’ll get you some water shortly,” Mycroft was saying. “You’ll be dehydrated with as much as you just expelled.”

 

Greg nodded.  He knew Mycroft would take care of him.  Thankfully.  His entire body hurt, and he was absolutely exhausted, and ugh.  He felt like shit.  After a few moments, he managed to open his eyes again and look up at Mycroft.

 

“Th’nk you,” he mumbled, attempting to smile. Mycroft gazed down at him, affection and concern in his eyes.

 

“Think nothing of it, my dear,” Mycroft said, brushing hair off his warm forehead. “I am here for you.  I will endeavor to remain at your side for the remainder of the evening.”

 

Greg opened his mouth to protest, because he was sure Mycroft had tons of work to do, but the look the younger man gave him silenced whatever he was going to say.

 

“Rest, Gregory,” he instructed instead. “I’m right here.”

 

Greg nodded, sighing and closing his eyes again. It felt like he was overheating and his body was still trembling, with waves of nausea flooding through him every once in a while, but finally he was able to relax.


	207. Surprise Visit

“Here we are, Ollie,” Violet Holmes was whispering gently, bouncing her grandson on her knee and holding a small chocolate chip cookie in front of his face.  Squealing, the 14-month-old took the treat and shoved a it in his mouth, just as Mycroft walked in the room.

 

“Mummy,” he said with exasperation. “I told you not to give Oliver any sweets, I’m about to put him to bed.”

 

“Oh please, Myc, this is what Grans do!” she cooed, kissing the child on the cheek.

 

“Gran!” Oliver repeated before taking another bite of the cookie and causing crumbs to fall down his front.

 

“ _Grandmother_ ,” Mycroft attempted to correct.  Violet rolled her eyes affectionately.

 

“I prefer Gran, my dear,” she corrected for the millionth time. “Grandmother is just too proper for me.”

 

“I think Gran is good,” Greg said, wandering into the room.

 

“Papa!  Daddy!” Oliver said, turning in his grandmother’s grasp and reaching out in a small wave to his two fathers.

 

“Wasn’t it nice of Gran to stop by?” Greg asked his son, ruffling his fluffy black hair playfully.  Oliver giggled, turning away and into Violet’s body to retreat from the touch, even though it was clear he loved it.  Greg chuckled affectionately.

 

“Come on, Oliver, it’s bedtime,” Mycroft said softly. Kneeling down next to his mother, he reached out to brush away cookie crumbs, before taking Oliver into his arms and smoothing down his hair some.

 

“Papa,” Oliver repeated as he gazed at Mycroft. “No bed?”

 

“Yes, love.  Bed. Say goodnight.”

 

“Gran, no bed!” Oliver repeated, turning back to his grandmother.  She beamed up at him brightly.

 

“Listen to your papa, dear,” she said. “Good night, Ollie.”

 

There was another minute of protest, which wasn’t uncommon at bedtime, but finally Mycroft was leaving the room and Oliver wasn’t putting up as much of a fight.  Greg watched them go, before turning to his mother-in-law.

 

“Tea, Violet?” he asked, reaching out to her. Violet nodded and accepted his extended hand, standing.  Together, they walked into the kitchen. 

 

Greg made tea the way he remembered learning with her preferences, and some coffee for himself.  It was nice that she had been able to stop by. She was alone, of course, because apparently Siger had to attend a small conference in London. As she had said when she’d first arrived, she took advantage of his trip so she could stop by and spoil her grandson as much as possible.

 

They drank for a moment in silence, before conversation started up.

 

“I’ve always been a very concerned mother,” she admitted out of the blue, glancing into her teacup as she spoke. Greg blinked and gazed over at her.

 

“Violet?” he prompted softly, waiting patiently before she started to speak again.

 

“I have always been very worried about my boys,” she continued after a moment. “Mycroft more so than Sherlock, for the most part.  Mycroft was always such a distant, disinterested child.  Of course, a mother’s intuition told me he loved me, and his father. And he loved Sherlock. But he never showed it. He never went out to make friends. He was always so alone, and it was clear he preferred it that way.  Even Sherlock had Redbeard, and he was such a bright and happy child during all that. Mycroft tolerated Redbeard. He tolerated all his classmates. He was such a loner.”

 

Greg listened intently, drinking his coffee and saying nothing.  He knew this was one of those big conversations; the kind the mother-in-law always had in store at some point.  It was not the first they’d had – one of the heaviest took place before he and Mycroft got married – so he could tell how much this would mean for the two of them.

 

“When he spoke of other children, in the rare times that happened, they were acquaintances.  Even at ten years old, Mycroft spoke and thought like a politician or a businessman.  He would only pursue something with another child if it was beneficial to him. He didn’t care about friends or relationships. Then he met you.”

 

Greg smiled softly, feeling warmth flooding in his chest.  He drank more coffee, and Violet looked up at him.

 

“Greg, I’ll never be able to express enough how much it means to me that you are here.  You taught my son how to truly love.  You have my son a reason to care, and care with his entire heart. The first time I met you, and I saw… When I saw the way Mycroft looked at you, when I saw that smile he wore for you and you alone, I almost cried.  It was a sight I was worried I’d never see.”

 

“He’s an amazing man, Violet,” Greg whispered gently. “You should be proud.”

 

“I’m the proudest mother in the world,” Violet beamed, her eyes glistening. “However, I may have raised my son the best I could, but you gave him the life he needed.  The one he deserved.  And now I’m a grandmother; I never would have thought.”

 

Violet reached out and settled her hand on top of Greg’s, squeezing gently.

 

“I am proud of this family the two of you have created, and even more proud that I can be a part of it.  I am proud to call you my son-in-law, and I love you so much Gregory Lestrade-Holmes.  I can never thank you enough for what you’ve done for my son.”

 

“I can’t express enough what he’s done for me, too,” Greg said, turning his hand to squeeze hers in return. “Thank you for entrusting him to me.”

 

“You proved yourself the second you walked in our door,” Violet said, shaking her head and sipping her tea. “I would have been a bloody mad woman to deny you in that moment alone.  I knew, before ever saying a word to you. I just knew.”

 

“When it comes to Mycroft, Violet,” Greg whispered, licking his lips and glancing over his shoulder, in the direction where his dear husband had walked off with their son. “I knew too. In those first moments, I knew. Even if I hadn’t realized it.”


	208. Overhearing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ClassyGirlsWearPearls reviewed with a request that I couldn't ignore! It just sounded super cute and sweet and more chances to write Oliver is something I will always jump at the chance to do. :D

“Papa no bed,” Oliver said again softly as Mycroft sat down in the soft rocking chair they had in his room, next to his crib. Mycroft sighed gently through his nose, holding the boy close and stroking his fluffy hair gently.

 

“It is time for bed, Oliver,” he said back, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.  Oliver reached out, grabbing hold of his jacket securely and huffing in a way that they always knew he was pouting.

 

“Papa.  Gran.”

 

“I’m sure she will be back soon, sweetheart.”

 

Oliver made a soft noise in the back of his throat, sighing again and slumping into his father’s arms.  Slowly, Mycroft began rocking back and fourth. It was clear the young child was extremely exhausted, and it was most common that he protested going to bed when he was already so sleepy.  Mycroft never could quite figure it out, because sleep was clearly what Oliver wanted when it came right down to it.  Babies still continued to confuse him immensely.

 

After a few moments, he reached over onto the dresser and turned on the baby monitor he’d carried in with him, so it would be on for when he left the room for the night.  To his surprise, however, instead of the silence that should have continued to occur, he heard voices.

 

“He never went out to make friends. He was always so alone, and it was clear he preferred it that way.  Even Sherlock had Redbeard, and he was such a bright and happy child during all that. Mycroft tolerated Redbeard.”

 

It was his mother.  Mycroft blinked, listening to what was being said. He pressed his lips together thinly, his eyes slanting in what Gregory always said was a very Holmesian gesture. Part of him felt like he needed to turn the monitor back off, because this was clearly an intimate conversation between his mother and his husband.  The other part of him, however, was interested in what they had to say to each other.

 

“You should be proud,” Gregory was saying after a moment, and Mycroft glanced over at the monitor.  He blinked again, feeling a surge of warmth flood through his chest. 

 

“I am proud of this family the two of you have created, and even more proud that I can be a part of it.”

 

Mycroft swallowed, closing his eyes for a few moments as he listened to their conversation continue.  Opening his eyes again, he gazed down at the 14-month-old in his arms.  Oliver was fast asleep, as he had assumed he would be, with his hand just barely still hanging onto his jacket. He felt that surge get stronger, and he brushed an errant curl off Oliver’s forehead.  They had created a family, he and Gregory. He had never expected to become a father, and there were still plenty of days that he felt like he was out of his depth, but… This was his son.  This small child resting peacefully in his arms was his, and he was so beautiful.

 

His mother was proud.  He had never doubted that, of course.  Not once.  Even still, hearing her say the words out loud, and hearing Gregory say them back… It was a feeling he couldn’t describe.  It made _him_ feel proud. He continued to rock back and fourth, only half listening as the conversation coming through the monitor turned into shoptalk about when they would be coming to the Holmes estate next. Finally, when he felt Oliver was rather deeply asleep, Mycroft slowly stood and leaned over the crib, setting him in and covering him with the small duvet Molly Hooper had given them when Oliver was born.

 

Sighing through his nose, he turned off the monitor and picked it up, pocketing it briefly so he could switch it out. He joined Mummy and Gregory in the kitchen, fetching a cup of tea himself and joining the conversation sparsely, until they were saying their goodnights to Mummy and left alone in their home.

 

“Mummy was right, you know,” Mycroft said after a while, once he’d properly switched the monitors and he was curled up on the sofa with his husband.  Gregory hummed curiously, turning to gaze at him.

 

“About?” he asked softly, tilting his head to the side slightly. 

 

“I never took stock in cultivating true relationships growing up,” he explained.  He watched the realization dawn on Gregory’s face, recalling the conversation with Mummy and the fact that it was what Mycroft was referring to. “I didn’t understand them; they all felt like quite a waste of time.  I was concerned my care for Sherlock was already too much of a weakness.”

 

“It wasn’t, though,” Gregory whispered, reaching for Mycroft’s hand and threading their fingers together. “It was that care that helped keep him alive when he was drugged out of his mind.  It was that care that caused us to meet.”

 

“Indeed.  And you, Gregory…” Mycroft gazed over at him. “You are everything in my life I never counted for.  You are everything I never realized I needed.  You and Oliver. You are my life.”

 

“Yes we are, and we’re here to stay,” Gregory said, cupping his cheek and pulling him in for a kiss.


	209. Taking Pictures

“Here, look at this one,” Greg said, giggling in amusement as he loaded a video up on his mobile and hit play. He was leaning over Mycroft’s shoulder; the politician was holding his phone in one of his hands with an amused smirk on his face as he watched the video.  The younger man shook his head, starting to laugh as they watched Sherlock beginning to stumble around.

 

“This is absurd,” Mycroft said, laughing again as the video went on.

 

“That’s not the best one,” Greg said, reaching over to flip to another video once that one had ended.

 

“Exactly how many of these do you have?” Mycroft asked, turning to look back over his shoulder at the older man. Greg’s grin only brightened.

 

“More than Sherlock is aware,” Greg said proudly. “My skills at videoing Sherlock when he’s drugged out of his mind and incoherent are pretty fabulous, I have to say.”

 

“Indeed they are, Gregory,” Mycroft chuckled, handing the phone back.  Part of what made Greg so giddy over it all was that now, when Sherlock was drugged up, it was fun and amusing.  They could laugh over these moments now, instead of being worried out of their minds or wondering if he had ODed again.  It was a good feeling.

 

“The deerstalker, though,” Mycroft said after a few moments of silence, shaking his head.

 

“John has sworn me to secrecy on that one. He never wants Sherlock to know because we feel like if he knows, it will be his never-ending mission to find it and erase it from existence.”

 

“Yes,” Mycroft hummed thoughtfully. “We can’t have that.  Your secret is safe with me.”

 

“Good,” Greg nodded, glancing at his phone. With a smile, he turned it back on and flipped to the camera, turning so that it was facing them, and leaning a bit closer.  He snapped a picture of them before Mycroft’s amused smile could leave his face, and the younger man blinked.

 

“What was that?” he asked, arching an eyebrow and glancing at the older man again.

 

“That’s what my daughters like to call selfies,” Greg joked.  Mycroft stared.

 

“That’s _ridiculously_ idiotic.”

 

“I know,” Greg laughed. “But seriously, look.”

 

He turned to the picture and admired it. They were both smiling brightly and quite genuinely, and Greg thought they looked damn good. Mycroft stared for a moment in silence, before starting to smile again.

 

“It’s a good picture,” he whispered, leaning back against Greg’s frame a bit more.

 

“How about another?” Greg asked.

 

He waited for the nod of approval before leaning back in again, even closer than before.  Turning his head, Greg pressed a gentle kiss to Mycroft’s temple as he took the next picture.  He had no idea how they looked, since he clearly couldn’t see his mobile, but that was okay. Rubbing his nose down Mycroft’s cheek slightly, he nipped the younger man’s ear and snapped another shot the moment he heard the soft gasp it drew from him.

 

“ _Gregory_ ,” Mycroft whispered, fussing at him (but not really fussing, of course). Greg chuckled.

 

“Not done,” was all he said in return. He nuzzled against Mycroft’s cheek again, and this time the younger man turned towards him more so that they were gazing at each other.  Greg’s breath caught, and he almost completely forgot, but ended up moving his thumb to take another. Then Mycroft was reaching up and cupping his cheek.  He took another. Then, Greg was leaning in and their lips were pressed together, so he took another.

 

The kiss started slow, but it didn’t take long before it got more heated.  Mycroft started running his fingers through Greg’s silvery hair, pulling him even closer, and soon Greg dropped his mobile on the desk so he could use both his hands as well. Greg was clutching Mycroft’s suit jacket and Mycroft’s arms were wrapping around his neck, and they were humming eagerly.  Finally, they parted, panting softly, and both their eyes had grown just a bit darker at the attention.

 

“Shall we relocate more comfortably?” Mycroft whispered.  Greg nodded.

 

“Mmm, that sounds like a fabulous idea,” he agreed, wrapping his hand around his partner’s tie and tugging him to his feet. He turned so they could head out of the room, but before he could take more than two steps Mycroft was wrapping a hand around his wrist.

 

“Wait, Gregory,” he said.  Greg glanced over his shoulder. “Bring your mobile.”

 

Greg blinked, hearing the rather suggestive tone to the politician’s voice.  Had he seriously just…

 

“You _naughty_ man,” he said, but leaning to the side, snatched his mobile off the desk. Never before had he thought Mycroft would be interested in possibly taking photos when they were more intimate with each other.  While Greg doubted he’d take very many, he couldn’t deny the thrill of it, the newness of it, as he quickly followed Mycroft to the bedroom.


	210. You're Not Leaving

Some mornings Greg felt mischievous.   He got playful and reluctant to be left alone even though he knew it would happen.  Most of the time, he had his own job to get to as well.  But even still, he couldn’t bear to lie in bed or hang out in the kitchen with coffee or breakfast while his partner got dressed and left.

 

Mycroft always left their home before Greg did.  He was up early, sometimes much earlier than the older man and gone before he ever awoke.  Many days, though, they would pass each other in the bedroom, or get to share a small, quick meal together before the politician had to leave for the day.

 

Having just wrapped up a high profile case, the Superintendent had Greg take a few days off to make up for the almost two weeks straight he’d been working.  He would never complain about an extended weekend, but after day two he started to get a bit bored.  Mycroft continued to work his required long hours, naturally, and Greg missed him.

 

While Mycroft was starting up his shower the following morning, Greg rolled over in the bed and snatched up his mobile.  He squinted as he adjusted to the bright little screen in the still darkened room, and as quickly as he could, sent off a text to Anthea.  If he had any control over it, he wasn’t going to allow Mycroft to leave the flat.  Obviously, he knew there were some things he couldn’t interfere with, but if his partner’s day was light enough…

 

His answer came within moments.  Grinning brightly at the answer, Greg dropped his mobile back on the stand and drug himself out of bed.  Scratching the back of his head, he yawned as he wandered across the bedroom and into the en suite that was getting fairly steamed up due to the heat of the water.  Grin widening slightly, he stepped out of his pants and tugged off the t-shirt he’d slept in so he could slip in behind the younger man and press close.

 

“G’morning,” he muttered, wrapping his arms around Mycroft’s waist and nuzzling into the back of his wet shoulder.  Mycroft paused in washing his hair, humming gently.

 

“Good morning, Gregory,” he returned.  Greg could hear the smile in his voice, and after a moment, he continued washing his hair. “Apologies for waking you.”

 

“Nah, s’fine,” Greg said, pressing kisses to Mycroft’s shoulder blade. “You didn’t wake me.  Plus, this is much better than sleeping.”

 

After rinsing his hair out, Mycroft turned and tilted Greg’s head up so they could share a few slow, gentle kisses.  Greg wrapped his arms around his love’s neck, pressing close and deepening the kiss slightly.  However, Mycroft separated them after a moment, with a gentle tug on Greg’s bottom lip.

 

“While this is extremely amazing, I need to get dressed, darling,” Mycroft said, cupping Greg’s cheek.  He leaned in to kiss his nose before turning off the shower and climbing out.  Greg followed, both men reaching for towels and drying off.  Mycroft was out of the bathroom before Greg, and was already halfway dressed and pulling on his waistcoat when the older man joined him back in the bedroom.

 

Greg didn’t bother putting on any clothes, and he remained standing with just the towel wrapped loosely around his waist.  He watched Mycroft dress in silence, admiring the way he flawlessly pulled on every article of clothing.  He didn’t think he would ever stop being in awe of how amazing Mycroft was in every aspect of his life.

 

“C’mere,” he said finally, beckoning the taller man over with a finger as he was fixing his tie.  Blinking, Mycroft turned and made his way over to him.

 

“Yes?” he asked, arching his eyebrow slightly, curiously.

 

Greg reached up with the pretense of fixing his tie, adjusting it slightly, but instead he curled his fingers around it a bit more tightly and tugged Mycroft forward.  The lovely, posh man made a noise of surprise, one hand going up to press against Greg’s chest.  He wasn’t pushing away, and it felt more like he was just attempting to steady himself, so Greg took advantage of their sudden closeness to lean in and start pressing kisses along his jawline.

 

“Stay home with me,” he muttered against smooth skin.  He kissed the entire way up his jaw, before rubbing his nose down the curve of his neck.

 

“Gregory…” Mycroft whispered, his voice trembling.

 

“You don’t have to go in,” Greg continued to mutter, letting his tongue slip out to run along his neck.  He paused at his pulse point for a few seconds, feeling how it was elevated, before moving back up.  Then, he was tugging Mycroft’s earlobe with his teeth, and Mycroft shuddered.

 

“Gregory, I need to-“ he tried to protest, but his voice was getting less firm.

 

“I checked,” Greg whispered, admitting.  His fingers were already working on untying the tie that had only been on Mycroft for moments. “Anthea can rearrange your day.  Stay home with me.”

 

“ _God_ Gregory,” Mycroft groaned as Greg pressed their bodies flush together.  His breaths were getting a bit quicker, and Greg could feel his own body responding in kind.  He could tell he was winning, and he already knew there was no way Mycroft would leave now.  Licking his lips, he slid a hand down the taller man’s side and forward, cupping his very obvious erection and rocking his hand slightly.  Mycroft practically yelped.

 

“F-fine,” he said, groaning and arching closer. “I’m staying.  You mad bastard.”

 

Greg smirked.  He loved when Mycroft spoke like that.  He sucked on his earlobe for another moment, before tugging him over to the bed as he worked on the buttons of his waistcoat.


	211. Good Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was dangerously close to becoming MUCH larger than a drabble. It honestly already is, lol. I've been craving teen AU stuff today for some reason, and part of my thinks I should just write something completely separate and flesh out more. Hmm. Maybe.

In all his years in school, Mycroft had never made friends with anyone.  He tolerated the majority of his classmates, at most.  He had never fallen in with any sort of crowd, and no one had ever bothered to attempt to befriend him before.  He was fine with it, because he really had never been able to stand anyone’s company for long periods of time. 

 

He still hadn’t been able to pinpoint how Gregory Lestrade had been the exception.  The older boy was the exact opposite of him.  He was outgoing and talkative, he played rugby, and he was an odd sort of popular kid.  It was odd because he was extremely rough and punk-ish (definitely not like the normal popular rugby players who were a lot more meat-headed and preppy), yet there was a group of the more unpopular kids who flocked to him instantly.  It was no surprise to anyone that he was generally one of the most attractive boys in his year.

 

Mycroft had at least half his divs with Gregory, and one day they had just started talking.  The older boy had come over during a free period and started up conversation out of nowhere.  It had been odd, and Mycroft hadn’t had any idea how to deal with it, but… He came to find out that he wasn’t annoying.  Gregory was actually pleasant to be around.  After a while, it was clear that in some strange way, he got Mycroft. The posh boy could never really explain it, which was immensely frustrating, but he found that he was okay with it.

 

Even still, he would have never believed it if he had been told that months after their friendship bloomed, he would be at a rugby match. He felt the sport was ridiculous, and how involved everyone at the school became with it was even more ridiculous. Yet, three days previous, when Gregory had sat down and nervously asked him to come, Mycroft found he couldn’t say no.

 

It was the last home game of the season, which also meant that it was Gregory’s last game at this school.  It was a big one, which is why he had invited Mycroft to come. Mycroft wasn’t sure why it was so important for him to be there, but he could tell that it was. Ignoring his brother’s hypocritical teasing (for he had been to many rugby matches of his own, obviously quite enthralled with the captain of his class’s team, John Watson), Mycroft had dressed in his school uniform and attended.

 

Mycroft had never been able to stop himself from finding Gregory attractive.  It was fairly obvious from the moment you saw the teen that he was. However, physical attraction wasn’t all that was there for him.  He was such a funny and kind boy, one that Mycroft found himself quickly drawn to, which had easily explained the friendship that blossomed between him. He was talented, considerate and caring, and a lot smarter than he gave himself credit for.  Mycroft cared about him deeply.  Watching him play rugby, however…

 

Mycroft hated the sport, but suddenly he found he wanted to watch Gregory play it all the time.  Seeing him running across the field in those shorts, watching his shirt fly up as he moved swiftly and revealing his tanned stomach, and watching as he gradually became glistened with sweat and a bit of mud was… It was inappropriately attractive.  Mycroft couldn’t keep his eyes off him.  He felt wanting in his chest, deep and intense, and he subconsciously gripped at the uncomfortable metal seat towards the end of the game as Gregory scored. Everyone was cheering, and Mycroft felt himself grinning, and he was _definitely_ in trouble.

 

He felt oddly lightheaded by the end of the game, and he had half a mind to retreat before he could get caught up in anything. He found, however, that he really wanted to stay, in the hopes that Gregory would come find him. He did.  Soon, the older teen was jogging across the field with a bright smile on his face, waving at him and not stopping until they were next to each other.

 

“You came!” he beamed, panting harshly. Mycroft felt his heart pounding, and it was all a bit ridiculous.

 

“Of course I did,” he nodded, surprised at how much control he had over his voice currently. “I said I would.”

 

“Yeah, but this isn’t your scene, I know,” Gregory shrugged, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair.  Mycroft couldn’t help but let his gaze wander to the expanse of his neck, seeing his pulse point where he was still recovering from the physical exertion that had just taken place. “Hope you weren’t bored?”

 

“Oh?  No. No, not at all, Gregory,” Mycroft said once the words had finally sunk in.  The reaction was more delayed than normal, and by the smirk and the way Gregory tilted his head, he could tell.

 

“All right?” he asked in amusement. Mycroft huffed, taking a moment to glance around.  They were alone on the field.  When had everyone else left?

 

“Yes, fine,” he managed to say. His heart rate escalated with the knowledge that they were alone.  He couldn’t figure out why. “It was an impressive goal you scored at the end.”

 

It really was.  It had won them the game, and for as much as he despised the sport, Mycroft was glad Gregory had been able to have an experience like that during his last game.  It seemed like an important thing.

 

“Almost a perfect night,” Gregory commented, gazing at him.  Mycroft arched an eyebrow.

 

“Almost?” he repeated curiously. What could possibly make the night better for him than it already was?  Gregory nodded, taking a step closer.  It closed more distance between them than Mycroft had initially realized, until feeling the warmth of his breath against his skin.  It made him shiver.  Mycroft was only slightly taller than the older teen, having hit a growing streak much earlier (as was common in the Holmes family), but they were level enough with each other that Mycroft only needed to lean forward and tilt his head just slightly to allow their noses to brush against each other…

 

He felt panic surging through him. It had to be the state of Gregory after the game.  Licking his lips, he moved to take a step back, but Gregory reached out for him and grabbed his wrist gently. Mycroft turned wide eyes to the older teen, whose warm brown ones were completely incapable of being read.

 

“Gregory?” Mycroft managed to ask. He felt dizzy, and it was…

 

“Sorry, Myc, I just…” he started, using that damn nickname that Mycroft should hate and just couldn’t.  Gregory tugged on his arm gently, and he was moving forward, and his other hand was pressing against the sweat-dampened silk shirt of his rugby uniform, and…

 

Their lips were touching.  It was warm, and Mycroft froze.  Gregory didn’t move either, didn’t press forward, and their lips just settled on each other.  But it was a kiss.  Mycroft felt himself panicking inwardly, but he was unable to project any of it publicly. He never could. Seconds drug on for what felt like hours, and finally, Gregory was pulling away.  His cheeks were flushed, and somehow Mycroft didn’t think it was because of the game.  He blinked rapidly, feeling a yearning at the loss of warmth he had just been feeling.

 

“So, yeah… I just…” Gregory started, his voice a bit rougher.  He let go of Mycroft’s wrist and scratched at the back of his head nervously. Mycroft’s heart felt like it was about to burst through his chest.  It was physically impossible, but there was no other way to describe it.

 

“G-gregory…” he finally said, his voice sounding foreign and weak to himself.  They stared at each other. “Would you care to… Ah… Do that again?”

 

He felt ridiculous asking.  Stupid.  For once in his life, Mycroft Holmes felt stupid.  He didn’t have time to dwell on it, though, as he watched Gregory’s face become completely unreadable.  Then, he was moving in again, and their lips were touching again, but this time Mycroft pressed forward and grabbed at his rugby shirt and began moving his lips against Gregory’s and…

 

He made a soft noise of pleasure as they kissed. Mycroft felt heat building in his cheeks and chest, and it was almost too much.  It was overwhelming each of his senses, and he gripped at Gregory’s bicep and gasped slightly, which gave the older teen the chance to slide his tongue in.  Gregory’s tongue was brushing against his and Mycroft felt like his knees were about to give out. Finally, with a whimper, he broke the kiss, realizing instantly how reluctant he had been to do so. He was panting softly, and gazing at Gregory with wide eyes.

 

“Come home with me?” Gregory asked gently.

 

“How long have you…?” Mycroft started, unable to finish his train of thought.  He had never been unable to finish a train of thought before.

 

“Forever,” Gregory responded, clearly knowing the answer to a question Mycroft hadn’t been able to finish.  He huffed softly, gazing down at the lips he had just been kissing. “Come home with me?”

 

“A-alright,” Mycroft nodded.  Smiling gently, Gregory leaned in and kissed Mycroft again, slowly and gratefully.  It felt amazing. The younger teen had dreamt about this, but he had never thought it would happen.  He had never realized how much he had wanted it to happen. But then Gregory was taking his hand, and threading their fingers together, and they were walking off the field of a match he had just won.  His last match before graduating this school. 

 

Mycroft couldn’t help but stare at the slightly muddy field as they left.  This night was a big deal.  He hadn’t understood the gravity of this evening as he had arrived, but now… Now it suddenly made so much sense.  Now, it was somehow perfect. Was this sentiment? It had to be.  Gregory had drawn out every version of sentiment a human being was capable of, and all things Mycroft hadn’t known he could feel. He hadn’t cared to ever find out until now.

 

He had no idea where this was going, or how this would change their friendship, but he found himself thrilled at the possibilities.


	212. Stop Being Absurd

When Oliver had been born, Greg slipped into the fatherly role very quickly and naturally.  This was something he was used to, something he could do, and it was amazing helping his dear husband through such unfamiliar territory (to him). Mycroft caught on quicker than he would ever like to admit, though, and he was doing _brilliantly_. Though, even with as much practice as he had, and as used to this as he was, sometimes Greg still couldn’t help but sit back in awe at his situation.

 

Tonight was one of those nights. They had just gotten Oliver to bed, and he was fast asleep.  Being that he was only a month old, they would most likely only get a few hours of rest before he was awake again and hungry, but it was time well spent. Both fathers were in the room together, sitting on a small cushioned bench, and just admiring the infant as he slept; lips parted slightly, one tiny hand clutching the baby blanket they had draped over him, his other arm stretched out and above his head, which was turned slightly to the side.

 

Greg gazed down at him affectionately, smiling proudly. He was so beautiful. His heart pounded with amazement and love and awe, and it felt like a constant state now.  Mycroft remained silent next to him, one slender hand settling on his thigh, gazing down at Oliver in much the same way. After a few moments, Greg licked his lips nervously and reached a hand into the cot, brushing the backs of his fingers along Oliver’s soft, warm cheek.

 

“I want to do right by him,” he whispered loud enough for the younger man to hear, but soft enough so he wouldn’t wake their child. He pressed his lips into a thin frown, leaving his hand to linger against Oliver’s cheek. The infant sighed in his sleep, making a soft and content noise, but did not wake up.

 

“Naturally, you will,” Mycroft replied after a few beats.  He shifted his hand, rubbing along Greg’s thigh for a moment. “You are the most amazing father, Gregory.”

 

“I want to be there.  Be a proper dad,” Greg continued, feeling a pang of regret and insecurity start to vibrate through him. “I want to help coach his football team if he joins one.  I want to go to every practice and match, whether in sports or academics or music or _whatever_. I want…”

 

He grimaced, sighing through his nose. Moving his hand, he brushed a small curl off of Oliver’s forehead and stroked his dark, fluffy hair gently. He lingered with a hand cupped around the curve of his head for a few moments more, before pulling back finally and settling his hands in his lap.

 

“What’s wrong?” Mycroft asked, shifting closer on the bench.  Greg could feel his piercing, pale eyes on him, assessing him and attempting to figure him out. He could practically hear the gears in his husband’s head turning as he worked on reading what he could from him.

 

“I was never there.  Not enough,” Greg started to confide, though it was all stuff Mycroft already knew. “Getting promotions and become a detective inspector, working in murders and serious crimes… I was never home.  You know what my hours were always like.  I couldn’t be a proper dad to Lizzie or Abby. It destroyed my marriage, of course. Not that it didn’t turn out for the better in the long run...”

 

“It’s why you retired, darling,” Mycroft reminded him, squeezing his thigh.  After a moment, Greg turned to finally look at his husband, who was gazing at him reassuringly. “There will be plenty of time and opportunities.”

 

There would be, of course.  Mycroft was right.  Especially with his government work, it had only made sense for Greg to finally hang up his badge and leave the force.  It had been quite the adjustment (and Sherlock was still adjusting, of course), but it had been for the best.  That way, Greg could stay at home basically full time, while Mycroft continued to work, though even he was cutting down his hours the best he could.

 

That wasn’t the problem, though, really. No… There was a much deeper worry throbbing in Greg’s heart and head currently.  Furrowing his brow a bit, he turned to stare back down at their beautiful son, licking his lips again.  He ran a hand through his hair.

 

“I know there will, but…” he started, hesitant to voice his concerns. “But Elizabeth and Abby.  I’m going to be there for Oliver, but I wasn’t for them. What if… Mycroft… What if they start to resent me for it?  What if they resent Oliver? I couldn’t bear…”

 

His train of thought faded away as he felt Mycroft’s fingers running through his hair.  Greg closed his eyes and sighed through his nose, leaning into the touch, before turning back to stare at him again.  Mycroft continued stroking his hair, before moving to mirror Greg’s earlier action on Oliver by brushing the backs of his fingers against his slightly scruffy cheek.

 

“Gregory Lestrade, you are an excellent father,” Mycroft said softly, but with authority. “You always have been, and both Elizabeth and Abigail love you dearly.  Elizabeth has expressed to me more than once how glad she is you were finally retiring, and they have both been immensely excited to have a little brother to spoil.”

 

Greg took in the words, knowing all of them to be true. Mycroft didn’t offer empty hope or reassurance.  That’s not who he was. Leaning over, Greg pressed his cheek into his husband’s shoulder, who wrapped an arm around him and hugged him close.

 

“They could never resent you. The fact that you’re concerned about it is absurd.  You can be an extremely dense man, sometimes.”

 

Greg huffed out a soft laugh, and he felt Mycroft chuckle as well.  Mycroft’s slender fingers were stroking Greg’s hair again, and he was kissing the top of his head.

 

“Stop your worrying,” Mycroft whispered against silvery locks. “It’s unnecessary.”

 

“I love you,” Greg sighed, closing his eyes and nuzzling into the younger man’s shoulder.  It was amazing how at east Mycroft could make him.

 

“And I love you, Gregory.  Come now, let us go to bed as well so we can get a few hours of rest before Oliver wakes us again, okay?”

 

“Yeah.  Yeah, okay.”


	213. Vacation Confusion

Greg had been looking forward to his weekend away with Mycroft for over a month now.  They had settled on a weekend to go up to Sussex, where the Holmes family had a cottage they owned that they were going to spend the weekend in. They both needed a break, even if it was just a few days.  He felt like it was exactly what they needed, especially because Mycroft had been out of the country on business for two weeks and they hadn’t been able to spend much quality time together since his return.  This would be perfect.

 

They left early in the morning for the drive up. Weather was lovely for the drive, and they got to the cottage around an hour later.  After taking in their luggage and carrying it to the bedroom they would be sleeping in, they settled in for a small breakfast. Already Greg felt lighter. After the meal they walked around the grounds, fingers tangled together, as Mycroft told Greg stories from his childhood here.  There weren’t many, but it was still lovely to hear them, and to hear more about the history of the estate.

 

Though honestly, Mycroft could talk about the weather and the encyclopedia and Greg would have loved every second of it.

 

After the walk, they went back inside and changed into more casual clothing.  Greg tugged on jeans and a plain t-shirt, and Mycroft pulled on slacks, a collared shirt, and a sweater to pull on over it.  The older man considered it an extremely successful vacation when Mycroft didn’t pack any of his three-piece suits.  He still dressed impeccably, of course, but while Greg adored his waistcoats, it was exciting to see his more casual outfits as well.

 

Greg cooked a light lunch, and after eating, they made their way into the sitting room and stretched out together on the sofa. They put on a movie and curled up with each other, sharing slow and gentle kisses, only half watching what they had put on.

 

That’s when things got… interesting.

 

“ _No_ ,” came a voice that neither man had planned on or really desired to hear this weekend. “No, get out.  This is not happening.”

 

“Sherlock, what are you-“ came the second voice, and while Greg and Mycroft didn’t get off the sofa, they watched as Sherlock stood in the doorway frozen with John coming to a halt when he noticed the issue. All four men gaped at each other in shock.  Apparently the two younger men had come up with the same plan, at the same time. What were the odds?

 

“Get out,” Sherlock snapped, frowning.

 

“We were here first, brother mine,” Mycroft said, glaring pointedly. “I believe that means that you should be the one leaving.”

 

Greg and John exchanged hopeless glances, as they often did when the Holmes brothers started fussing at each other like this. Greg licked his lips, shifting on the couch as they both sat up a bit straighter.  He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.  This was not the most ideal situation, but it could still be salvaged.

 

“Come on you two,” he said after a moment. “The cottage is big enough that we could all share.”

 

Sherlock stared at Greg like he’d grown an extra head.

 

“You’ve got to be joking,” the younger Holmes snapped, dropping his bag a little harder than was necessary. John sighed.

 

“Greg’s got a good idea,” he said, glancing at Sherlock. “Plus, we were going to spend the day in town tomorrow. There are plenty of rooms, because the fact that you call this a _cottage_ is a right laugh. They wanted a vacation too Sherlock, it’s a bit not good to force them out yeah?”

 

“But _John_ ,” Sherlock stared, turning to stare at his boyfriend in exasperation. Greg watched as John gave him back the ‘don’t fight me on this’ look, and smiled slightly as he noticed the moment where Sherlock gave in.  It was brilliant the way John could deal with Sherlock.  It was one of the many reasons they were perfect for each other.

 

“Then it’s settled,” Mycroft said, shifting and relaxing a bit more into the sofa again.  He rejoined his hand with Greg’s, who glanced at his partner with a soft smile before curling back against him again.

 

It could be nice for them to all spend some time together anyway.  Maybe he’d cook them all dinner that night, and he and John could share a drink at some point. Sure, he and Mycroft were no longer completely alone, but they would still be alone enough. It would work out just fine.

 

“But John and I **will** be having sexual intercourse on that sofa,” Sherlock snapped as he grabbed his bag and turned to head up to where they would settle into a bedroom as well.  Greg snorted, and John groaned as he turned to follow.

 

“No we won’t, Sherlock,” he called after him. “The bed’s perfectly fine.”

 

“Could be worse,” Greg said, gazing up at Mycroft once silence had fallen in the sitting room again.  Mycroft hummed, glancing at him before pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.

 

“Yes, that it could,” he chuckled affectionately, squeezing Greg’s hand and turning his attention half back to the television again.


	214. Successful Weekend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to every single one of you that leaves kind words and reviews. I know I don't always respond to every one, as I can get bad about that, but I read and love every one of them. And thank you to all you silent readers who still read and enjoy them. You are all awesome.
> 
> Here is a continuation of the last chapter. Because I couldn't resist. ;)

True to Sherlock’s word, he and John were gone the majority of the next day.  The morning had been a whirlwind of insanity and there were periods of time where he and Mycroft were being their usual feuding selves, but then they were out the door, leaving Mycroft and Greg alone again.

 

This was how Greg had eventually coaxed his partner onto the couch and was now straddling him, a hand wrapped around them both, panting harshly and kissing messily.

 

“ _Gregory_ ,” Mycroft moaned against his lips, arching up against him, trembling hands grabbing his bare waist.  Greg growled slightly in response and nipped at his bottom lip, too close for words at this point, and he stroked faster and teased them both with his thumb.

 

It was the second time they’d had sex today, and it probably wasn’t the last.  Greg loved that about holidays.  Less stress and more time to themselves meant they could very properly take advantage of it. Leaning in, he captured Mycroft’s lips in another fierce kiss, getting dizzy, as they both finally reached their climaxes.  He pressed their foreheads together, panting, hearts pounding, until Mycroft was shifting to get up.

 

“Don’t go,” Greg groaned, but he moved to allow the younger man to get up anyway.

 

“We need to clean up and get dressed before we are no longer alone, my dear,” Mycroft panted in return, moving around to gather up their clothes that had been thrown on the floor, and heading up to the washroom next to their bathroom.  Shaking his head and grinning, Greg got up and followed.

 

He was back down first, and was in the kitchen when Sherlock and John returned to the cottage.  Wordlessly, Greg got out two extra cups so he could make tea for them all, before wandering to the edge of the kitchen as they wandered in.

 

“Welcome back,” he greeted, smiling gently. John glanced at him and grinned.

 

“Hey Greg,” he said, setting down a few bags. “Good day in?”

 

“Sure was,” he nodded. “I’m making tea, if you all want any.”

 

“Ta, that’d be great,” John nodded. Sherlock glanced at him wordlessly, walked into the sitting room, and stopped.  Greg watched him, already knowing what the younger Holmes was thinking as he stared at the sofa.  His grin widened as Sherlock turned and stared at him with slanted eyes. Of course he knew they’d had sex on it. Greg felt even more triumphant considering Sherlock’s comment the night before.  Sherlock huffed.

 

“Ridiculous,” he muttered, slipping out of his coat and moving to hang it up.  John glanced at him curiously, and Greg just laughed.

 

“Gonna start dinner here shortly, too,” he said, turning and heading back into the kitchen as the kettle started whistling. “Salmon with spaghetti.”

 

“No thank you,” Sherlock sighed from the other room. John had been in the middle of walking into the kitchen, and he paused to glance over his shoulder at his partner.

 

“You will hush,” he fussed. “It’s lovely of Greg to cook for us and you like when I cook you fish, so stop pretending it sounds awful.”

 

Greg shook his head, rolling his eyes as he poured them all tea.  He added milk and sugar to the ones needed, preparing the drinks how he recalled everyone liked, and leaned against the counter as Mycroft joined them in the kitchen. He picked up the cup made for him and handed it over, smiling affectionately as he stood next to him.

 

He could’ve burst out laughing at the look on John’s face.  It took him a moment, but then he realized why.  Mycroft had pulled on some of _his_ clothes, so he was currently wearing some black sweatpants and a plain light blue t-shirt. Greg had seen him wear things like this many times, but it dawned on the older man that John had never seen Mycroft in anything other than a three-piece suit, and the semi-dressy outfit he’d been wearing yesterday.

 

“Yes, Doctor Watson, I can wear normal clothes as well,” Mycroft commented, raising his eyebrows in obvious amusement as he sipped his tea with a complimentary hum.  John blinked and stared into his own drink.

 

“Sorry, it just… looks weird,” John admitted. Greg chuckled.

 

“I love it,” he grinned, eyes shining. He really did adore it when the posh and perfect man worse his clothes.  There was truly something to be said about it.

 

Greg made dinner shortly after: frying salmon in a skillet with salt and pepper as pasta cooked in a pot alongside it. He added lemon juice, capers and basil to the pasta, mixing it all together, before putting it on plates and setting the salmon on top.  Mycroft opened wine to go along with it, and they all settled in (though John did finally have to drag Sherlock in to join them, as he was clearly not feeling sociable).

 

It all went surprisingly well. Sherlock pretended he didn’t want dinner, but to Greg’s pleasant surprise, he ate everything on his plate without a fuss.  They held casual conversation, John talking about what they’d gotten up to in Sussex that day. Sherlock finally chimed in with some deductions he’d made around town, causing he and Mycroft to get into a conversation/debate/competition that left John and Greg baffled and in awe as always.

 

Overall, it was brilliant.  They all clearly enjoyed the evening.  After finishing their meal, everyone moved into the sitting room and drank some more wine, before both couples finally headed up to their bedrooms for the night.

 

“You know, I’m glad they showed up,” Greg whispered as he curled up against Mycroft (after they’d had sex again, as he had confidently known they would).  Mycroft hummed, stroking his silvery hair.

 

“Surprisingly, I am as well,” he agreed. Greg chuckled. He had initially dreaded having to share the cottage – more with Sherlock than John – but it had turned out rather nicely. They would definitely be taking away some fond memories, and while he would _never_ say it out loud around Sherlock, he felt like they were all a family. It was something he would never forget.


	215. It Happened Too Fast

“Sherlock, get back here,” Greg hissed harshly, trying to peer through the slim hallways and find out where the goddamn detective had gone.  He had a gun out, both hands holding it tightly, prepared for whatever might happen. Behind him, Mycroft was moving so silently there were times the older man forgot he was there.

 

What had started as a simple drug hit turned into a massive organization that was hiding terrorists.  The net was vast and way above the normal murder he had started out as, so Mycroft had been forced to get involved.  It was a truly amazing thing watching the Holmes brothers actually working together, especially it came to crime, and while Greg was still working it as well, he had felt well out of his league more than once.

 

He was feeling way too much tension now, though. He had no idea who or what they would find in this hideout, and Sherlock had disappeared.  On top of that, Mycroft had basically been required to come along as well, and Greg was a bit terrified.  If something were to happen…

 

He and Mycroft had been romantically involved for a little over six months now.  He knew that he was falling for the younger man fast and hard, and while he hadn’t quite brought himself to say the words, he was in love with him. That fact became blindingly obvious with the possible danger they were facing.  It was awful.  He wanted Mycroft to leave, to go back to the car and wait.  He couldn’t control Sherlock, but he had accepted that years ago. He knew he couldn’t control Mycroft either, but that fact in this situation was much more worrisome.

 

“He’s going to screw everything up because he’s too damn _eager_ ,” Mycroft whispered, irritation clear in his voice.  Greg would have loved to comment on hearing his partner curse, but as he opened his mouth and dared to quirk a smile, he heard noise coming from the next room.

 

Letting one hand off the gun, he held out his arm and pressed it against Mycroft to keep him from walking. He stopped, pressed against Greg’s back, and the older man could feel his breath warm on his neck. While primed for danger, it was a reassuring sensation.  He would have relished on it more had they the time, but since they didn’t, he glanced over his shoulder and motioned for Mycroft to remain still.

 

Licking his lips, he returned his second hand to the gun and took a slow step forward.  He exhaled slow and soft through his nose, wondering where the fuck his backup was, and finally peered into the room, ready to act.

 

Only to let his shoulders drop and huff in irritation. Sherlock turned to look at him, eyes slanting briefly before going back to whatever deductive searching he was doing to the room.  He crouched down, picking up things and dropping them, and Greg was both furious and relieved. He took another step, opening his mouth to ask what the younger Holmes had in his hand, before he was once again interrupted.

 

“Gregory…” Mycroft muttered, a hint of warning in his voice.  _Bloody hell_.  Straightening, Greg turned to see Mycroft standing straight, arms up in the air. They weren’t alone anymore, as a very cracked-out man was pointing a gun at Mycroft.

 

 _Shit shit shit shit **shit**_. This was **exactly** what Greg had wanted to avoid.  He turned, dying to reach out and tug Mycroft aside, but worried any quick movements would spook the man.  So, he remained as calm as he could, held his gun out, and finally spoke.

 

“This is Detective Inspector Lestrade,” he called out in a surprisingly calm, authoritative voice. “Put the weapon down. If you put it down and cooperate, things will go a lot more smooth for you, okay?”

 

“He’s not going to put the gun down,” Mycroft muttered. Greg wanted to throttle him. That was definitely not helping. Meanwhile, Sherlock was standing, but clearly not worried based on the way Greg could hear him walking around. Okay, he wanted to throttle BOTH of them.

 

“Put the gun down, this is your last warning,” he repeated, eyes locked on the man across the hall.

 

The next series of events happened too fast. It always did. Funny how that happened... The man moved, and Mycroft stiffened, taking an automatic step back.  There was an explosion of sound.  Greg was dropping his gun and moving, instinct taking over his mind and propelling him forward. Sherlock was shouting – at least, Greg thought he heard Sherlock shouting.  He was reaching out and shoving Mycroft as hard as he could, pushing him out of the way, and stumbling more into the hallway.

 

The next sensation was pain.  Time stopped and he went numb, stumbling, and as he crashed to the ground pain flooded through him instantly.  Greg clenched his teen, hissing and shutting his eyes, body curling up protectively.  There was more shouting.  Footsteps. Another gunshot, oh god.

 

“GREGORY!” he finally heard someone shouting. There were arms wrapping around him, lifting him.  He grunted, trying to open his eyes, and finally seeing Mycroft staring down at him. His calm, pale eyes were panicked and terribly expressive.  They weren’t expressive in the way Greg loved, watching as they made love to each other, staring in desire at each other.  No, this expression was pain. 

 

He was trembling.  There was blood.  It was hot and slick and he could feel it now.

 

“Y’okay?” he asked hoarsely, reaching up weakly and grabbing at Mycroft’s jacket.  He got blood in it.  Bollocks.

 

“I’m fine.  You’re an _idiot_ ,” Mycroft fussed, brushing hair out of his face and pressing a hand down on what Greg assumed was his wound.  Putting pressure on it, smart.  Mycroft was so smart.

 

“Sorry…” Greg sighed, hissing in pain and huffing. “Myc…”

 

“Stop talking, Sherlock is getting help. Why did you _do_ that?”

 

“Couldn’t let you… get hurt,” Greg managed, ignoring how Mycroft contradicted his command for silence automatically by asking him a question. “Can’t let you…”

 

“Stay with me,” Mycroft said, and Greg realized things were fading a bit.  Going black, not hurting as bad.  It was nice and awful all at the same time.  He was struggling to keep his eyes open.  He just wanted to sleep.

 

“Love you,” he said, fearing he’d never get to say it again.  He couldn’t let it go without telling Mycroft even once.

 

“Gregory,” Mycroft was whining, tears clearing lining his eyes. “Stay with me.”

 

“I love you,” he said more forcefully, gripping his jacket tighter.

 

“I love you too Gregory,” Mycroft practically sobbed. “I love you too.”

 

Greg smiled in relief, before sighing and slumping into his partner’s arms.  He was too exhausted.  He couldn’t fight it anymore. He just couldn’t.


	216. Terribly Worried

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course I had to continue from day 215. I'd already had that planned before even finishing that one yesterday. ;)

Mycroft couldn’t stop pacing. He couldn’t stop wringing his hands, and it was infuriating.  The entire situation was.  If this wasn’t complete proof that caring was not an advantage, than he didn’t know what was. What was even more infuriating was how calmly Sherlock was stretched out in one of the chairs in the private room they were currently in.

 

“How can you just _sit_ there,” he snapped without thinking, causing his brother to look up at him in minor surprise.  Mycroft would be relishing in that expression if his partner weren’t in the next room, fighting for his life.

 

“Because I can,” was all Sherlock said, voice cool and sarcastic and bloody irritating. “Because clearly, pacing around like a madman is doing nothing.”

 

Mycroft didn’t care that Sherlock was right. The fact that he was pacing was absurd. This is what Gregory Lestrade had done to him.  He hadn’t felt mind-numbing terror like this since Sherlock had OD’ed.  It was horrifying to feel this way about another person.

 

In all of it, he couldn’t stop thinking about what Gregory had said.  He had told him he loved him.  Mycroft had said it back. He had said it instantly, without thinking, because… Well, he did love him.  He’d felt that way for a while.  He had known Gregory loved him as well.  Neither man had just ever spoken the affectionate sentence before that night.

 

It was clear Gregory was saying it because he thought he was dying.  On the flip side, Mycroft supposed his lack of hesitation to return the sentiment was due to the same fear.  He could lose Gregory tonight.  It had been over an hour without a visit from the doctor, and that possibility was still there. Mycroft despised not knowing. It was the worst feeling in the world.

 

“You love him,” Sherlock said, staring at him with slanted, calculating eyes.  The statement caused Mycroft to freeze mid-step, and stare at his brother.

 

“Yes,” he admitted after a few moments. Sighing, he straightened, and stared down at his hands.  He stared at his crumpled jacket and waistcoat, still covered in Gregory’s blood. He sighed through his nose. “Yes I do.”

 

There was something about the admission that caused all the fear-driven adrenaline to leave his body.  Suddenly, all Mycroft wanted to do was sleep (though he knew there was no way that would happen).  With another exhausted sigh, he made his way over and fell into the chair next to his brother.

 

“The gunshot could have been in a worse place,” Sherlock muttered. “As we both know, it’s still likely fatal, but there’s the chance.”

 

“I despise chance,” Mycroft frowned, trying not to cry again.  He’d already cried once that evening and it was awful.

 

“Obviously,” Sherlock retorted. “Even still…”

 

The younger Holmes faded off after a moment, and Mycroft dared to look over at him.  The look on his face was strange, but it all made sense.  It was clear Sherlock was worried about Gregory as well. Was… Was Sherlock trying to comfort him? Surely not.  This was not the way they did things.  Even now… No.  Was he?

 

“Balance of probability, Sherlock,” Mycroft sighed anyway, rubbing at his temples and trying to ignore the blood all over him. Perhaps he should have changed, but he hadn’t been thinking about that.  Even now he wasn’t worried about his clothing, juts the grim reminder of what was happening that was plastered all over him.

 

Part of him expected to feel more furious with Sherlock, for whatever reason.  Whether it be from the way he had been shrugging off the event, or his casual disappearance in the dark housing they had been in just hours ago.  But… he reflected on the other things too. He thought about how Sherlock jumped into action the second Gregory crumpled to the floor and Mycroft had become too shocked and numb to function properly.  He was fairly certain he killed the intruder a lot slower than was strictly necessary.  Then there he was, sitting next to him, attempting to comfort him.  He let his Sherlockian guard down for a moment long enough to be the little brother Mycroft found himself missing dearly, and showing his concern, for he loved Gregory almost as much.  Any chance at fury was dashed when faced with those actions.

 

“Mr. Holmes?” came a voice that jolted Mycroft out of his train of thought.  His gaze fell upon the doctor and instantly he stood, swallowing nervously. “Inspector Lestrade is awake.  Your presence is being requested. Would you like to go over his stats now or-“

 

“After I see him is fine, thank you doctor,” Mycroft interrupted, unable to remain in that room a moment longer when his partner was asking for him, and awake.  He glanced at Sherlock briefly enough to see him nod, and briskly, turned and strode past the doctor and into the room.

 

Gregory was lying on the bed, looking weak and so pale he was almost gray.  It made Mycroft not able to breathe properly for a few moments.  Steeling himself, he walked over and sat down, pulling the chair up to the bed as close as he could.

 

“Myc…” Gregory started hoarsely, but after a moment alarm was evident in his hazy brown eyes. “God, are you-“

 

“I am fine, Gregory,” Mycroft said softly, reaching out to take one of his hands in both of his. “None of this blood is mine.”

 

He couldn’t bring himself to say it was Gregory’s. With the look that dawned on the older man’s face, he knew he didn’t need to.  Carefully, he squeezed his hand again, fresh tears welling up in his eyes and sliding down his cheeks.  He was too tired to force them back anymore.

 

“I thought you were dead,” he muttered, voice trembling.  He took a deep breath and gazed over at his partner.  He looked too frail.  It was _awful_.

 

“I thought I was too,” Gregory admitted with a soft sigh. “But dying in order to save you would have been worth it.”

 

“You’re an idiot,” Mycroft scoffed, frowning. Gregory slowly pulled his hand away and reached over so he could brush away the tears on the younger man’s cheeks. Mycroft sighed and leaned into the touch.

 

“I meant what I said, you know,” he whispered after a moment, rubbing his thumb along Mycroft’s cheek for as much as his strength would allow. “I didn’t just say it because I thought I was dying. I was just…scared I wouldn’t get the chance. That you’d never know.”

 

“Of course I’ve always known,” Mycroft sighed, standing up so he could lean in to press a kiss to Gregory’s forehead. “Don’t be such an idiot.”

 

Gregory chuckled at the repetition, though it turned into a wheezing, faint cough.  Mycroft kissed him again before sitting back down.

 

“I meant it as well,” he said after a moment, sinking into the chair with relief and exhaustion.

 

“I know,” Gregory managed to smile, before slipping into a weak, recovering sleep.


	217. He's Conflicted and Coping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endless thanks to everyone who comments and reads, as always. And a huge hello to jaimistoryteller, who has been commenting on what I believe is every chapter from the very beginning. I've been getting notifications all day and it's been awesome. ;)

Greg stared, lips parted and arms crossed, watching the _frantic_ motions occurring on the other side of the sitting room.  He hadn’t found himself this concerned over Sherlock since before John Watson had appeared in all their lives, and what’s more, this was _because_ of John, in a way.  It was all rather peculiar.

 

It had started with the best man speech. He couldn’t forget the rush of panic that had drawn him to 221, just to find out Sherlock was (thankfully) unharmed.

 

“Do you know any funny stories about John?” he had asked that day, holding up a how-to book.  That had been odd enough, that was for sure.  Never mind the helicopter he had called to Baker Street that day, but seeing the younger Holmes… It was odd.  It was getting odder.

 

“What is he…?” he asked softly, glancing up as Mycroft joined him on the sofa and crossed his legs.  He took the glass of wine that was offered to him and pressed close, leaning into the comfort of the taller man’s body. He couldn’t take his eyes off Sherlock. They may as well not even be there, but Greg was glad he could keep an eye on him.  This dark brooding, frantic attachment, and fluctuating moods were so reminiscent of the danger nights that left him shivering and withdrawn on Greg’s couch all those years ago.

 

Now, however, there was no cocaine. Sherlock was staring at a laptop screen, bending over in a way that made Greg’s back hurt, hands fiddling with a stack of cloth napkins.  Where had he gotten all those napkins?

 

“He’s folding serviettes,” Mycroft muttered as he sipped his wine.  Greg’s eyebrows shot up towards his hairline, and he took a moment to gawk at his partner in disbelief.

 

“Serviettes?” Greg repeated, blinking. Turning back to Sherlock, sure enough, that was exactly what he was doing.  Those quick hands were folding what soon turned out to be a swan, which was hastily tossed aside as he turned back to the laptop.  He seemed to be navigating whatever web page he was on, and then he snatched up another cloth.

 

“Indeed…” Mycroft hummed, sliding an arm around Greg’s shoulders. “I never would’ve thought my brother would actually take interest in wedding planning.”

 

Greg said nothing as he watched Sherlock. He kept folding cloth after cloth, watching as a star came into creation, and then a boat, and then a… Was that a lily pad?  He sighed through his nose and took a long drink of his wine, shifting on the sofa and curling a leg underneath him.

 

“He’s not taking interest,” he commented lowly, not wanting Sherlock to hear.  He wasn’t overly worried about that possibility, of course, because the youngest man in the room had barely given them a spare moment for hours now, but still. Tuning into their conversation now would be the worst timing in the midst of this utter crisis. There really was no other word for it. Sherlock was having a crisis.

 

“Then why is he YouTube-ing how to fold different kinds of serviettes?” Mycroft asked, turning to focus his gaze on the older man. Greg sighed through his nose again.

 

“He’s coping,” he answered. “And failing miserably at it.”

 

In some ways, he would never tire of being able to give Mycroft’s amazing face a puzzled expression.  He watched as the politician processed what he was saying and attempted to make it all make sense in a matter of seconds. He couldn’t help but chuckle.

 

“He likes Mary,” he decided to elaborate. It wasn’t all that difficult to deduce. He was honestly surprised he seemed to be the only person in this circle to notice.  He didn’t even think John did (though when it came to Sherlock the good doctor seemed to get rather dense). “He respects her and appreciates what she’s done for John in his life, especially when he was off pretending to be dead.”

 

Mycroft opened his mouth to comment on the slightly bitter tone Greg still couldn’t help but adopt over the whole ordeal. It was fine, it really was, but sometimes he just… Sometimes it still rubbed him the wrong way. Shaking his head, Greg held up his free hand to silently interrupt whatever Mycroft was about to say, before continuing.

 

“But it’s conflicting for him,” he continued, eyes shifting back over to Sherlock.  The younger Holmes had abandoned the pile of cloth napkins and had turned solely back to the laptop, typing away on God knows what, and frowned. “He’s in mourning in the way only Sherlock knows how.  He’s in love with John, you know.  You must know.  He has been for a long time, it’s not so easy to miss.”

 

“I know,” Mycroft finally commented. “I’ve always known.”

 

“I figured.” Greg finished off his wine and set the glass down, before reaching to thread his fingers in with Mycroft’s. “He’s throwing himself head first into helping plan and learn whatever he can to keep his mind busy.  He wants to make the day as special for John as he can, because he loves him. He… Mycroft, when the newlywed Watsons go off on their honeymoon, we really need to watch him.”

 

He felt like his concern was all over his face. With the wedding over and nothing to keep Sherlock distracted, especially if crime was at all slow, Greg was worried what could happen.  Mycroft very obviously read what he was thinking, and nodded slightly, squeezing his hand.

 

“We will,” he said gently, pressing a kiss to Greg’s head briefly. “We always do.”


	218. Game Day Injury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> teen AU

Greg had been told stories about how, when big incidents happened in someone’s life, they could see how everything slowed down. It didn’t give you the chance to change anything; it just made everything much clearer right before…

 

Everything was slow.  Then there was a collision, and they were on the cool grass. Greg couldn’t breathe, and pain seared through his body.  It felt like he was on fire and he couldn’t breathe.  Someone was getting pulled off him.  People were talking, someone was trying to check his eyes, but it all _hurt_.  The pain that was quickly numbing his leg seconded the pain in his head, however. This wasn’t a good sign.

 

The game was stopped.  He was getting gently carried to the sidelines. Someone was trying to give him water, trying to help him sit up.  The motion very quickly caused him to vomit.  Groaning, he brought a trembling hand up to cover his eyes, and he was panting softly. Shortly after, a very smooth and concerned voice broke through the buzz of people that had carried him over.

 

It was Mycroft.  The younger teen had apparently gotten down from the stands and made his way over, and Greg just wanted those slender arms wrapped around him. He kept trying to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth, an exercise the coach had taught them on the first day of practice that was supposedly key in getting through any game-related injury.  It did help. He was still dizzy and his reaction times were slow, but after a few minutes he could blink his eyes open.

 

“Do we need to get him to a hospital?” someone was asking, and Greg saw as Mycroft was looking at that person. He watched his boyfriend shake his head.

 

“No, I don’t believe that’s necessary,” he was saying. At least, that’s what it sounded like. Greg felt confused, and he frowned at that. “You said his knee was not broken, correct?”

 

Greg tuned out after that.  Not broken.  He focused on those glorious words.  If this had taken him out for the rest of the season, that would have been insanely not good. He was captain, after all, and having to sit out a game or two would be fine, but being out for the season would have been awful on the team’s morale.

 

The next period of time was a blur. He almost got sick again as he was lifted, and Mycroft was hurriedly ducking under his arm to support him, while someone else was handing over a crutch for him to tuck under his other arm. All he remembered thinking was that he hated to be leaning against Mycroft so much right now, because he was sweaty and covered in grass and mud, which was no doubt getting all over the younger teen’s nice clothes.

 

Then he was in bed.  He was in Mycroft’s bed, and he was only wearing a pair of clean pants.  He was clean? There was a line of pillows propping up his injured leg, and he blinked slowly as he tried to recall what had happened.  When had he showered? His brow furrowed in confusion, and he tried the breathing exercise again as he felt a new wave of nausea bubbling up in his chest.  He didn’t want to throw up all over Mycroft’s room.

 

“Gregory?” Mycroft asked softly, walking over and sitting down on the edge of the bed.

 

“Wha’happened?” he managed to croak, trying to remember… He couldn’t remember.

 

“You were playing rugby, remember?” Mycroft started. Greg thought for a moment, but then nodded. Yeah, that’s right, it was going to be their third game of the year. “You were in a collision. Your knee has suffered a sprain, and I do believe you have a concussion.”

 

Greg huffed a soft breath, groaning and closing his eyes.  Slender fingers were running through his hair, and he could feel Mycroft pressing a kiss to his forehead.

 

“I brought you back here,” he continued to explain gently as Greg leaned heavily into his body. “Got you bathed, and you’re staying in my room tonight, okay?  I took your rugby supplies back to your room and grabbed that book you were assigned in English Literature.  Perhaps we can read a bit.”

 

“Wanna sleep,” Greg sighed, shaking his head gingerly at the thought of reading his bloody English homework.  It made him feel sick all over again.

 

“I can read to you,” Mycroft commented, kissing his forehead again. “I’m not fond of the idea of you going to sleep just yet, okay? Let’s give it about an hour.”

 

“Because… of my head?” Greg asked, glancing at his boyfriend in confusion.

 

“Yes,” Mycroft confirmed, stroking his hair as he opened the book. “Don’t worry Gregory, I’m going to take care of you.”

 

As Mycroft started to read in that amazing, smooth voice, Greg smiled and leaned against him.  He knew the younger teen would.  He always would.


	219. Secretly Artistic

Greg had always been a fidgety kind of person. When he was in school, he could never focus on just one thing.  He always made passable grades, but he couldn’t get through lectures without keeping himself busy.  This was how he started drawing.  Mostly, he would doodle in the margins of his lecture notes or on scrap paper shoved inside a textbook. Sometimes he would draw things in the classroom, and other times he would draw famous people or things from tv shows he’d watch.  But there was always something.

 

It was a habit that faded slightly as he got older, but not completely.  Sometimes if he was at home relaxing he would stretch out on the sofa, throw on the telly, and just draw.  If he was shoved into a long meeting at the Yard, or stuck in his office doing tons of paperwork, he would absently draw.  He used to draw things for his daughters a lot when they were younger, and they reacted to every one like it was the best thing in the world, which made him feel pretty great. He supposed he was decent at the skill. It was nothing he could make himself famous off of, not by a long shot, but his pieces usually turned out okay and it kept him occupied and happy.  That’s what really mattered.

 

As of late, his favorite subject to draw was (like in many other things) Mycroft Holmes.  The younger man had always had such a striking look to him, something Sherlock carried with him as well, that made the two Holmes men almost ethereal. Maybe that was he adoration talking. Maybe it was how head over heels in love with Mycroft he was that made him think that way.  That didn’t change the fact that it’s what he thought. He was breathtaking, seemingly untouchable, and the moment he had fallen for the man he had wanted to draw him. So he did, multiple times.

 

Sometimes it was from memory, or from a photo on his mobile, and sometimes in person.  The in-person ones were always his favorite.  The best thing about it was that the younger man, for as brilliant and observant as he was, had never seemed to catch on to what he was doing. Or maybe he did, and just chose not to draw attention to it.  Greg really didn’t know, but that was okay.  Greg had never quite gathered the courage to show his partner the art, because he was self-conscious and critical over himself, even though he knew there was at least a bit of skill there.

 

It finally happened one day, however. He should have known that it would be inevitable.  Both men had a day off today, which was rare but amazing when they did, and had basically done nothing all day.  They took the liberty of staying in bed for a lot longer than normal, and Greg had actually woken up before Mycroft for once.  He sat up in bed, but was very careful about it so that he wouldn’t wake him.

 

Smiling, he gazed in awe at the man lying next to him, before making a decision.  Reaching down the side of the bed, he pulled out a sketchpad (complete with a new pencil tucked in the spiral binding), and began to draw. It had been a while since he’d seriously focused on drawing anything, and there was something that came along with the chill day with a gorgeous man he loved more than anything that gave him inspiration.

 

Amazingly, he was able to get the whole thing finished and set back aside right as Mycroft was stirring.  They wrapped up in each other’s arms and kissed for what felt like hours, before pulling each other out of bed and taking a shower together. They may have given each other blowjobs in the shower, but why not?

 

They didn’t leave the house the whole day. After lunchtime, they settled in the living room.  Mycroft sat on one end of the sofa and Greg reclined against the other end, stretching his legs out and settling his feet on Mycroft’s lap.  Some movie was put on the telly, and Greg pulled out his sketchpad again. It was the most obvious he had been with it in a while, but he wanted to draw again.

 

He started with his view of their patio. After taking a little bit to sketch that out, he turned to a new page and started on his second one of Mycroft that day. To see him sitting there, relaxed and happy, with a slight smile seemingly permanent on his mouth, was beautiful and perfect.

 

“Gregory?” Mycroft finally started to inquire after a while.  It took Greg a moment to register he was being spoken to, but finally he blinked and looked up over the paper, his hand stilling.

 

“What’s up?” he asked with a soft smile, watching Mycroft’s curious gaze.  He was looking at him like he was a baffling puzzle again.  He did that a lot.

 

“You’re drawing, yes?” he asked, finally bringing it up.  And knowing exactly what he was doing, of course.  Greg couldn’t help but chuckle.

 

“Yeah,” he confirmed, shifting how he was stretched out to get more comfortable.

 

“May I…” Mycroft started, pressing his lips together slightly. “May I see?”

 

Greg froze a bit.  He licked his lips, feeling that self-consciousness flooding through him again.  Most of the recent pieces in here were of Mycroft.  He’d be seeing himself… Really, though, he should have been ready for it. So, with a soft sigh, he nodded and managed a smile.

 

“Yeah,” he said as he handed the book over. “It’s just random stuff.  A hobby that started when I was young.  It’s nothing special.”

 

The expression on Mycroft’s face as he flipped through the book said otherwise.  He seemed to be blown away, utterly speechless by what he was seeing.  Greg watched as he flipped to the one he’d done this morning, and his fingers hovered over the pencil figure of himself.

 

“Is this…” he started, gazing at the way he had been sleeping on his stomach with the sheets settled around his waist. “Is this how you see me?”

 

“Y-yeah,” Greg blinked, rubbing the back of his head a bit. “Yeah, it is.”

 

“They’re beautiful, Gregory.”

 

“Yes you are.”

 

They stared at each other, Mycroft clearly surprised by the comment.  His parted lips slid into a smile, though, and he set the book down.  A slender hand settled on Greg’s shin for a moment, before he leaned over so they could kiss gently.

 

“They’re amazing,” Mycroft whispered against Greg’s lips. “You’re amazing.”

 

“Shut up and kiss me,” Greg smirked against his lips, yanking him close to avoid further embarrassment he felt creeping up his cheeks.


	220. Happy Family

When Greg woke that morning, it was because he was extremely warm.  It felt warmer than normal, and he wasn’t quite sure why because it had been a slightly chilly night. He furrowed his brow in slight confusion, shifting and yawning a bit, when he realized that it didn’t feel like a normal night in bed.

 

He blinked his eyes open and immediately realized why. Lying on his side, he was facing the other side of the bed where his husband was sleeping.  They were not alone, however.  Wedged in between his and Mycroft’s bodies was their son Oliver, curling a tiny fist into Greg’s t-shirt.  Well, that explained it then.  He gazed at Oliver’s gentle, sleeping face with half-open eyes, stifling another yawn as he tried to wake up.

 

He noticed slight movement from Mycroft, and was finally able to tell that the younger man was also awake. Of course, he would’ve had to be the one to bring their son into bed, because unless he had taken up sleepwalking, Greg hadn’t done it.  Oliver had started teething recently and because of that, was having difficulty sleeping for very long.  The only time he got good sleep was when he was sleeping with them.

 

Smiling, Greg shifted his arm, careful not to wake the sleeping child, but moving to cradle him slightly. Mycroft shifted again, barely felt on the mattress, but Greg was watching his face.  He huffed the slightest laugh out of his nose, causing pale eyes to flutter open and gaze over at him.

 

“Good morning,” Greg whispered gently. He watched his husband blink lazily a few more times, clearly having woken back up more, and it was such an amazing sight.  Greg loved sleepy Mycroft, because he was the cutest thing.

 

“Good morning,” Mycroft whispered in return, smiling affectionately at him.  Greg’s gaze shifted to the body between them after a moment, slipping his hand up to gently stroke at the fluffy hair on the back of Oliver’s head.

 

“He wasn’t sleeping well again?” he asked, already knowing the answer.  Both of them had been pretty adamant about Oliver getting used to sleeping alone early on so that he wasn’t 7 years old and still wanting to sleep with his fathers. However, during this stage in his life, it seemed to be better for all three of them to sleep together. That way, they could all actually get some sleep.

 

“Yeah, his mouth was bothering him terribly,” Mycroft said, confirming what Greg had already suspected. “I’m surprised you slept through it, honestly.”

 

“So am I,” Greg agreed, continuing to gaze down at Oliver. 

 

After a moment, a soft audible sigh came from the child, and he stirred slightly.  Gripping Greg’s shirt tighter, he turned more into his body, his legs shifting a bit as he worked on settling back in.  His brow furrowed, but his eyes never opened, and after a moment, his breathing calmed back down and he was fast asleep again.  Smiling, Greg tilted his head forward so he could press a kiss into the slight curls on the top of Oliver’s head.  He lingered for a moment, closing his eyes, before shifting his head just in time for Mycroft to kiss him.

 

They remained for a moment, relaxed in the kiss, before breaking away.  Greg leaned back as Mycroft mirrored what he had done previously, taking his turn in kissing the top of Oliver’s head.  The child just sighed sleepily in return.  Greg kept grinning, watching in amazement.

 

This was his family.  He was a lucky bloke to have these two in his life. Moments like this made everything perfect, and made it all worth it.  Mycroft glance at him, pale eyes full of happiness and love, and Greg couldn’t help but kiss him again.


	221. Sherlock's New Flat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to do something with 221B on day 221, lol.

“Oh yes yes, come in dears,” a short, somewhat elderly lady said, motioning both Greg and Mycroft into the set of flats. She felt very motherly to Greg, and he couldn’t help but smile and nod his thanks as he stepped inside. He recalled Sherlock mentioning her – Mrs. Hudson – and it was interesting to meet her in person. She definitely wasn’t the type of person he expected the young detective to tolerate, let alone allow to be his landlady, but there you were.

 

“Afternoon, Mrs. Hudson,” he greeted with a warm smile. “I’m Greg Lestrade, Detective Inspect-“

 

“Oh yes dear, I know who you are,” Mrs. Hudson fluttered, waving her hand around dismissively. “Seen you on the telly, of course. Let me tell you, though, you look _much_ more handsome in person.”

 

Greg blinked, and had to look over his shoulder to glare at Mycroft as he heard the younger man make a stifled noise of amusement. Slanted brown eyes met amused pale ones, and the moment was brief, but it was enough to make Greg’s heart pound.

 

“And you are Sherlock’s brother?” Mrs. Hudson guessed correctly, breaking the moment and causing their attention to return to the older woman.  Greg smiled hesitantly, but he didn’t miss the knowing look she was giving them. Was it really that obvious? Or was this Mrs. Hudson just really that astute?  Either way, Greg felt himself blushing hard and glancing down at his shoes.

 

“Indeed I am,” Mycroft confirmed, shifting and tapping his umbrella on the floor lightly. “Might we take a look at the flat Sherlock has apparently decided to rent out from you?”

 

“Oh yes, of course.  It’s right on upstairs, dears.  Door’s open, so please, help yourself,” she ushered them, before wandering off down the hallway next to it towards what could only be her flat, calling back to them about bringing up some tea. It wasn’t necessary, and Greg opened his mouth to say so, but she was gone before he could.

 

“She’s quite the character,” he commented as he followed Mycroft up the steps.  The politician hummed in agreement, but said nothing else.  He really didn’t need to.  They’d known each other for… what, almost 4 years now?  They’d been through really tough, scary times with Sherlock. What had started as a professional acquaintance had turned into friendship, and now… Now what were they? They had gotten drunk on more than one occasion and ended up kissing fiercely.  It was very conflicting, because Greg was still married, and he felt guilty, but apparently his wife was cheating on him (and had been for ages, according to both Holmes brothers).  Not that it made the kissing on his end much better, but he couldn’t deny how he felt about Mycroft. 

 

It was complicated.  There was a sparking tension between the two of them now, and not just on his end.  It was clear the attraction and yearning went both ways, but neither man would say anything. If their arms or hands brushed, or if they got a bit too close into each other’s personal space, that’s just how it was.  It was getting more and more likely that Greg would be separating from the wife within the next few weeks, because he just couldn’t take it anymore, and he wondered if that would open up avenues that could be a lot better for him.  Maybe…

 

Mycroft was talking.  Greg had missed what he’d said, so he blinked and brought himself back to the present, glancing across the sitting room that was unsurprisingly already cluttered with possessions he recognized as Sherlock’s. The flat was nice. It was a hell of a lot better than the damp, moldy shithole he’d been living in previous.  On top of the drugs Sherlock had been on and suffering from, he’d been getting sick due to the grungy conditions of that place, and finally, they’d forced him out.  This was much better.

 

“This is good,” he commented, glancing at Mycroft. They were closer than he’d expected, and his heart rate picked up again, but Mycroft just smiled.

 

“Yes, it seems so,” he nodded. “I’ll need to look into Mrs. Hudson a bit, but it seems like she might be good for Sherlock as well. One could hope.”

 

“If she can put up with him,” Greg pointed out, causing Mycroft to laugh.

 

“Indeed,” he chuckled, smiling even more genuinely. Greg felt dizzy. How many people got to see smiles like this?  He didn’t think there were many.

 

“Mycroft,” he started, licking his lips. The look in the younger man’s face was a mixture of knowing and confusion, and Greg couldn’t help but wonder how many people got to see that one too. “I, uh.  Look. Christina is going to be… Well, moving out soon, I think.  And I…”

 

He gestured absently, causing their hands to brush against each other.  Greg heard Mycroft’s breath hitch.  Slowly, as slowly as he dared, he ran his fingertips along Mycroft’s wrist, gazing up at him. Somehow, the action spoke louder than any nervous words he was trying to spill.

 

“Woo hoo!” came a voice that caused Greg to jump and take a hesitant step back.  Mycroft’s face slid into neutral just as Mrs. Hudson walked in carrying a tray of tea. Greg took a deep breath, turning towards her with a smile, but his stomach was still rolling nervously.


	222. Relaxing Shower

It was with stress and exhaustion that Greg finally dragged himself back home after yet another long day.  This made it day four where he was at the Yard at sunrise and still there well past sundown.  To call this case a locked room mystery didn’t give it full justice, and while Sherlock seemed to be having an absolute field day with it, Greg was tired of dealing with it.  He wanted it to be over, and he had no idea when that would be happening.

 

He toed his shoes off and wandered into the kitchen to make some tea, listening for any other sounds in the house. There were none. He sighed with a frown as he set the kettle on.  Mycroft had been dealing with some major international crises of his own, and had very much the same schedule this week.  His was even more ridiculous though, because some nights Greg wouldn’t see the younger man until after he’d fallen into bed finally.

 

He pulled out two cups anyway, hoping that Mycroft would be home soon.  He fiddled around on his mobile, not really focusing on much of anything as he passed the time, waiting for that whistle to sound.  Finally it did, so he set his mobile down on the counter and poured the tea.

 

As he was leaning there, sipping away at the cup he’d prepared for himself, he heard the door open and close. He couldn’t help but smile against the rim of his teacup.  His heart pounded happily, knowing that for once he could actually _see_ some of his partner. 

 

“I’ve just made tea,” he called out, and moments later, Mycroft strode into the kitchen.  The politician looked as exhausted as Greg felt, and he gazed at him with sympathy.  Neither of them had been sleeping well, that much was sure, and the stress was starting to take its toll.

 

“How did you know I’d be home to drink it?” Mycroft asked softly as he walked over and leaned against the counter next to him, picking up his own cup.  Greg watched as he took his first sips, and saw the tension slowly slipping out of his shoulders.

 

“I didn’t,” Greg admitted, smiling. “I just hoped.”

 

Mycroft looked at him then, smiling gently. He leaned over to press a kiss to Greg’s forehead before going back to his tea.  They stood in silence for a little while, neither man moving to start up conversation or anything until both their cups were empty.

 

“Come with me,” Greg said, tilting his head in the direction of their bedroom.  Mycroft arched an eyebrow, but nodded and followed wordlessly.  Greg reached out to take his hand, threading their fingers together and kissing his cheek as they stepped inside.  He turned, slipping off Mycroft’s suit jacket and starting to unbutton his waistcoat.

 

“Gregory, darling, I’m too exhausted to-“ he started, closing his pale eyes with a regretful frown. 

 

“I’m not trying to seduce you right now, love,” he interrupted, shaking his head.  He kept on unbuttoning the waistcoat and worked on undressing him. “I’m exhausted too.  But I think a shower would do us both good, yeah?”

 

Mycroft seemed to ponder on that for a moment, before nodding and smiling slightly again.  He reached over and started to return the gesture, and slowly they undressed each other.  Then, joining their hands again, they wandered into the en suite and started up the shower.

 

They shared some slow kisses once they’d stepped inside, before pulling away as Greg reached for the shampoo. He poured some out on his hand and pressed close, his chest brushing against Mycroft’s back as he reached up and began working the suds into the taller man’s dark, ginger hair. He had to shift due to the height difference, but it got it worked in there nicely, and smiled as Mycroft groaned happily at the touch.  He ran his fingers all along the younger man’s scalp, making sure to get everywhere and even going back over areas just to make sure.

 

When he was done and Mycroft turned to rinse his hair, Greg’s mouth quirked a bit at the obvious arousal the act had caused. Mycroft’s pupils were blown and his cock was half hard, and it was a really fine compliment.  The younger man caught the grin and rolled his eyes playfully, and had Greg not been utterly exhausted, he would’ve eagerly done something about that.  As it was, though, they shared a few more slow kisses instead, holding each other close.

 

“My turn,” Mycroft whispered against Greg’s lips, kissing him again before moving around him to reach for the shampoo himself. Greg shivered a bit as his head was massaged now, a familiar heat pooling in his own gut, and it was lovely. As wonderful as sexual acts could be, there was something even more intimate about the simple things that never moved forward to anything more.  He treasured them just as much.

 

Together, they got bathed, but overall the shower took about 45 minutes.  Both men insisted on washing the other, paying particular attention to areas such as shoulders, calves, and waist, taking time to massage and lavish everywhere with affection. If this didn’t make the week better, Greg couldn’t say what would.


	223. Getting Mugged

The night was wonderfully calm. Greg and Mycroft had shared dinner, and then after a bit of persuasion from the older man, they had stopped by a small tea and cake shoppe that stayed open late.  It was connected to a bakery, so the two of them shared a tiramisu and some tea for dessert.

 

Mycroft insisted they take a walk through the park afterward.  He didn’t say that it was because of the dessert, but Greg knew better.  Mycroft was always so self-conscious about his weight, even though he had no reason to be, but their walks through the park were always quite lovely so it was just fine.

 

It was later so there was only the occasional person they would pass as they walked along.  Reaching out, Greg brushed his fingers along the back of Mycroft’s hand, smiling softly as he pressed a bit closer and bumped their shoulders together.  Mycroft hummed, turning his hand slightly and threading their fingers together.

 

“This was a lovely night, thank you,” Greg whispered gently, squeezing their hands affectionately. 

 

“Of course,” Mycroft smiled. “Thank you for joining me.”

 

“Can I stay at yours tonight?” the older man asked, gazing up at his partner.  The occasional lamp, and the moonlight, lit up Mycroft’s angular features in such a beautiful way.

 

“Naturally,” the politician smirked. Greg laughed softly and leaned close again, bumping gently into him again.

 

They continued walking for a while, falling into comfortable silence.  Greg brought their joined hands up to press a soft kiss to Mycroft’s knuckles, rubbing with his thumb. He opened his mouth to start talking again after a few moments, but was interrupted before he could speak as a body barreled into his own.  He stumbled, separating from Mycroft as this person was wrapping his arms around him and very obviously going for his pockets.

 

“Oy!” he shouted angrily, spinning and grabbing for his attacker.

 

Before he was able to get very far, Mycroft blurred into action.  As calmly as ever, the younger man grabbed his umbrella from where it had been hooked around his elbow casually.  Greg was carefully pushed aside as Mycroft became a barrier between him and the obvious mugger, spinning the umbrella in his hand and swinging it into his side.

 

The man grunted and stumbled, but did not fall. He lunged for Mycroft, throwing a fist, but the politician leaned casually to the side and reached out to forcefully grab his wrist and yank.  Turning, he twisted the arm behind the man’s back.

 

“You will drop it,” he said calmly, menacingly. When the man didn’t do as requested, Mycroft clenched his teeth and twisted tighter, causing the man to cry out in pain.  Greg watched his wallet drop to the pavement.

 

“L-let go!” he cried out in a rough, pained voice. Mycroft only twisted tighter. Greg could swear he was about to break the man’s arm.  Lips parted, he could only stare on with wide brown eyes as he watched what could only be some brilliant MI6 training Mycroft always casually denied he had.

 

“You made a big mistake when you attempted to mug us,” Mycroft said instead.  Finally, he shoved the man down on the ground, tossing his umbrella from one hand to the other.  Greg swallowed, licking his lips and straightening, making his way over where Mycroft had scooped up his wallet and was handing it over.

 

“Mycroft,” he breathed in fascination, slowly smiling. Mycroft glanced at him casually.

 

“Are you all right, Gregory?” he asked, attempting to ignore the heated gaze Greg couldn’t help but give.  It was so hot seeing him do that.

 

“Fine, yes, but _you_ …” he said softly, reaching out. 

 

There was movement to his left as their attacker was getting up, now brandishing a knife.  Greg glared, but before he could say or do anything, Mycroft took charge again. He gripped the handle of his umbrella and yanked, pulling out a hidden blade.  Greg gaped.  Mycroft ducked, elbowing the guy in the ribcage, and causing him to crash to the ground again. Before he could move, Mycroft pointed the sword (it was a bloody _sword_ ) against his throat.

 

“I would not move, if I were you,” Mycroft glared, threatening.

 

Huffing, Greg walked over.  He nodded at Mycroft, who slowly moved the blade away, as Greg knelt down and straddled the mugger.  Pulling handcuffs out of his jacket, he shoved the man onto his stomach and cuffed him.

 

“Bad move attacking a politician and a Detective Inspector,” he snorted, tightening the handcuffs more than was strictly necessary. The man practically sobbed. Sighing, Greg reached in and pulled out his mobile, calling it in.

 

As he talked, he glanced up at Mycroft with a knowing grin.  The younger man just chuckled and shook his head.  It was clear Greg would be demanding an explanation.  Minor position in the government, his ass.  He was dating James Fucking Bond.


	224. I'm Taking You Home

Mycroft sighed softly, hands resting on the handle of his umbrella as he watched the London streets go by. He tapped the smooth wood impatiently with his thumbs, crossing his ankles and leaning back against the seat. Gregory hadn’t been home when he got home from the office, and while the younger man hadn’t been surprised by it, he was still a bit disappointed.

 

His poor Gregory had been dealing with an absurdly messy murder case for almost two weeks straight.  Even with Sherlock investigating, it was taking an awful long time to get to the bottom of it.  Mycroft had even been putting some of his own resources towards it, even if his partner hadn’t entirely requested for him to do so.

 

He glanced up, looking up at the night sky through the window.  It was a surprisingly clear night, and while it wasn’t as much as you could see out in the country, there were stars shining tonight.  It was rather peaceful, in all honestly.  Mycroft licked his lips, thinking to himself. He needed to arrange a vacation for the two of them again soon.  It had been too long.

 

He checked his email as they got closer to the crime scene, scrolling through his itinerary for the following day that Anthea had just sent over.  It would be a fairly light day, if everything went according to plan, so perhaps he could work on putting together dinner for the two of them when he was done.  He thought on this, already putting together meal options in his head, as the car finally slowed to a stop.

 

Slipping his mobile into his jacket pocket, Mycroft gathered up his umbrella and ducked out of the car.  Straightening, he gazed over the top of it as he hooked his umbrella around his elbow, peering into the taped off crime scene. The newest body was in an abandoned building that used to be government-sanctioned.  It had become a bit of a health hazard, however (as it was a rather old building), so around ten years ago they had moved it over closer to Buckingham Palace, and it had gone unused ever since. 

 

Mycroft’s pale eyes scanned the columns that formed the entrance of the building, taped off with the usual yellow crime scene tape and forming a small path that officers and forensics were using to get inside. It was a clever place to dump a body, though Mycroft suspected that’s all that happened.  He wouldn’t know for sure without going inside, but even though it was abandoned, it was still high profile enough that it would be difficult to get away with the actual murder here.

 

Sighing though his nose, he strode across the street to the police cars that were parked around the vicinity, ducking under the tape before anyone could say anything against it.  As he climbed the steps, he came across Sergeant Donovan, who stopped in her tracks and blinked at him.

 

“Gregory is inside?” he asked smoothly, gazing down at her.  She nodded.

 

“Yeah, just in there,” she said, pointing behind her. “Should be cleaning up now.”

 

“Would you be opposed to me taking him away?” he asked with a gentle quirk of the eyebrow.  Donovan huffed out an appreciative laugh.

 

“Not at all.  He’s exhausted.”

 

She nodded his way before stepping around him, calling orders out to a few officers who were approaching. Mycroft glanced back at her before turning and walking into the building.  He saw Gregory standing over a body, talking to the forensics team who was working on bagging it up.  He scanned the scene, noting where Sherlock was doing the same on the other side of the room, talking hurriedly to John as always.  Walking over, he approached the Detective Inspector and settled a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Jesus Myc,” Greg huffed after jumping slightly and turning to see who was behind him.  He managed a tired smile. “Sorry, you scared me.  What are you doing here?”

 

“Taking you home,” Mycroft said, squeezing the shorter man’s shoulder and rubbing.  The reluctant look in his brown eyes spoke volumes, but he only smiled. “Yes, love. It’s time to go home. You’ve done enough tonight.”

 

Gregory was still hesitant, of course, but finally he nodded.  Turning, he called out to Sherlock, who saw Mycroft and scowled, but waved them off after a moment. Then, turning to Anderson, he discussed getting the correct toxicology screens and autopsy reports to his desk in the morning.  Finally, he turned back to Mycroft and sighed.

 

“Let’s go home?” he practically yawned, shoulders slumping a bit. 

 

Mycroft nodded, reaching to take the older man’s hand and thread their fingers together.  Gripping his umbrella loosely with his other hand, they started to walk out of the building.  Ahead of them was a full moon and the lights of London.  He heard Gregory hum next to him.

 

“It’s beautiful,” he commented, glancing over at Mycroft with a more genuine, happy smile.  Mycroft smiled back.

 

“It definitely is,” he agreed. London really was a beautiful place.

 

“Kinda romantic, isn’t it?” Gregory asked, grinning a bit wider.  Mycroft chuckled.

 

“Yes it is, darling,” he said gently, squeezing Gregory’s hand and pressing closer as they walked out into the cool evening.


	225. The Long Leave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> teen AU

Greg was buzzing with energy. Finally, the long leave had arrived. He was home from school, and he had barely stayed in his own home before he absolutely had to go to his boyfriend’s house. He knew that Mycroft had gotten home earlier that day; they had texted during Greg’s ride home. The two of them hadn’t seen each other in three months, when Greg had gone to visit Mycroft at his dorm, and he was utterly dying to see him.

 

Now here he was, stepping inside the gate of the Holmes estate and heading up the walk.  He was fighting to keep the largest grin possible off his face, hoping to come across as having some kind of self-control, but he was just bubbling with eagerness.  Clenching his fists for a moment, wiggling his fingers and flexing them for a moment before raising a hand and knocking.

 

He didn’t have to wait for long before the door was opening.  Sherlock answered the door, a surprising look of excitement in his eyes that faded almost immediately when he saw who was on the other side of the door.

 

“Oh, it’s just you,” he said, deflated, and sighed.

 

“And who were you expecting?” Greg laughed, crossing his arms.

 

“Absolutely none of your business Lestrade,” Sherlock snapped with a huff. “My _brother_ is upstairs in his room.”

 

The younger teen stepped aside and Greg nodded, walking in.  Daring to, he reached over and ruffled Sherlock’s black, curled hair playfully. Sherlock cried out in great offense and practically stumbled to get away from the touch.

 

“Sherlock, John’s not going to be here until later tonight,” came a voice from the kitchen belonging to Mummy Holmes. “Stop staring out the door every five minutes.”

 

“ _Joooooohn_?” Greg asked, wagging his eyebrows.  He forced down more laughter as he watched Sherlock’s face turn beet red.

 

“Get out, Lestrade,” he growled, crossing his arms again and storming off.  Greg laughed again, poking his head in to say hello to Mr. Holmes, before taking the stairs two at a time.  His heart was pounding as he got to Mycroft’s bedroom door, and he licked his lips before slowly opening the door.

 

Mycroft was at his desk, bent over slightly, and it looked like he was writing something.  He was still in his school uniform, which fit his slender body perfectly, and Greg couldn’t help but admire it.  Grinning, he quietly stepped inside and pulled the door to behind him. Walking across the room, he approached his boyfriend and wrapped his arms around his waist, feeling the way he jumped as he straightened.

 

“Gregory, I didn’t know you’d arrived,” Mycroft said, glancing over his shoulder with a soft smile.  Greg nuzzled into his shoulder and breathed deeply.

 

“Just got here,” he whispered, kissing Mycroft’s shoulder. “God I’ve missed you.”

 

Mycroft turned slowly in Greg’s arms so that they were facing, and he wrapped his arms around the older teen as well. Leaning in, they kissed gently, hugging even closer.

 

“I’ve missed you as well,” Mycroft whispered against his lips. “Your studies are going well?”

 

“They’re all right,” Greg responded with a shrug. “Let’s talk about that later?  I just wanna enjoy being with you again.”

 

“Of course,” Mycroft smiled.  He stepped back, before taking Greg’s hand and squeezing gently. He tilted his head to the side, motioning for them to move over to his bed, where they settled in beside each other and pressed their shoulders together.  Greg started tracing tiny circles along Mycroft’s knee, whose pale eyes shifted down to watch affectionately.

 

“How long can you stay?” Mycroft asked after a moment. He lifted his eyes again so that they could look at each other, and Greg swore he could see a hint of apprehension in his beautiful eyes.

 

“For as long as you can have me,” Greg said truthfully. “I’ve got permission for the whole weekend, if your parents would be okay with that.”

 

Mycroft brightened instantly when he said that. Greg chuckled and leaned in to kiss him gently, reaching over to cup his cheek.

 

“So I can stay?” he whispered, just needing the verification.  His heart was pounding again, and he bit his lip as he pressed their foreheads together.

 

“Yes, of course Gregory,” Mycroft said. “I want you here with me tonight.”

 

“In your bed?” Greg smirked suggestively.

 

“Yes of course,” Mycroft chuckled, but his voice changed just slightly enough that it made Greg shiver.  Thank god for the long leave.


	226. Footsie and Whiskey

Slowly, Greg made his way over to the table in the corner where he had left Mycroft to sit and get comfortable while he fetched their drinks.  They had just left the hospital, where Sherlock was still admitted and currently unconscious. The younger Holmes had suffered an overdose, though apparently not by his own means, which was both disturbing and relieving.  They were both immensely grateful that Sherlock wasn’t using again, but that meant someone had tried killing him.  That wasn’t… abnormal, per say, but it left them with some investigating to do.

 

That didn’t change how exhausted and terrified Mycroft had been through the whole ordeal.  Greg hated to see the younger man go through that.  They had gotten pretty close, and Greg had developed some rather intense feelings for the other man, though he had never fully acted on it. Yet here they were, in a posh little bar (definitely a bar, not a pub, this was too fancy and intimate for a pub), about to share whiskey.  It was the closest to a date they’d had so far.

 

“Here we are,” he announced as he approached the table, where Mycroft was slumped back and typing away on his mobile. He slid into the seat across from him and set the glasses down, sliding one over for him.

 

“Mmm, thank you Gregory,” he nodded, glancing up from his mobile briefly so he could reach out and wrap a hand around the glass. He picked it up and took a sip, before sighing and letting his eyes close briefly. “Exactly what I needed. I appreciate the invitation.”

 

“It was no problem,” Greg shrugged, drinking from his own glass.  Yeah, it was definitely hitting the spot. “I’m just glad Sherlock is going to be okay.”

 

“As am I,” Mycroft nodded, finally setting his mobile down. “CCTV footage is already being collected.  We’ll likely have the culprit come morning.”

 

Greg chuckled a bit.  Geez, his people worked fast.  If only things went that quickly at the Yard.  Mycroft had an insane amount of power, even though Greg hardly knew what all he could do, and it was a bit terrifying.  More alluring than terrifying, though, and that’s how he knew he was in trouble.

 

They remained silent for a little bit as they nursed their first drinks.  Once the glasses were empty, Mycroft decided to get up to retrieve round two. Greg had almost declined another, because this was some fairly strong whiskey they were having, but Mycroft was finally relaxing and smiling a little bit.  He didn’t really have the heart to shut things down this early.

 

Halfway through the second round, things started to get interesting.  Greg felt a bit fuzzy, because he hadn’t really eaten dinner, and the alcohol was finally starting to affect him a bit.  He had leaned forward with his elbows on the table, listening to Mycroft talk about some meetings he’d attended a few years back in Iran.

 

He loved hearing the politician talk about his work – when he could.  This was clearly nothing confidential, because Mycroft had no qualms explaining things and going into detail, which Greg was _so_ happy about.  These stories were bloody hilarious. It amazed him some of the dense people Mycroft had to work with.  You would think running a government would ensure that you would have more intelligent people around you.

 

Mycroft was laughing and drinking, talking about some German diplomats and their problems with Iranian escorts while they were there. Greg was embarrassed for the diplomats. He kept hiding his eyes while groaning and laughing as the story went on and on.

 

His heart leapt up in his throat as Mycroft stretched his legs out underneath the table.  Not usually a big deal, but in doing so, their feet brushed against each other.  Mycroft barely made it known that he had felt it too, but Greg had surprisingly not missed the way his breath hitched just slightly before the story continued. Greg kept listening, but he was half paying attention to their feet now.

 

Mycroft was continuing the story, and Greg kept laughing, but he noticed how Mycroft was not withdrawing his feet. They were still touching. Taking a slow breath, he sipped his whiskey some more and shifted in a bold move, turning his foot in to brush against the younger man’s ankle.

 

There was a pause.  The tension was almost palpable.  Greg instantly thought he had done something wrong.  However, Mycroft’s foot shifting, turning as well, and began rubbing the toe of his shoe up and down Greg’s calf.  The older man’s eyes widened a fraction and he glanced at his whiskey, but before he was stupid enough to blurt out something, Mycroft’s story continued.

 

So they kept talking.  They kept talking, and they kept playing bloody footsie. Greg thought he might die. Come morning, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about what this might mean, or if he should ever bring it up, but for now?  For now, he just wanted to enjoy it.  Because it was pretty bloody amazing.


	227. Listening to Music

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what happens when I spend the night watch YouTube videos of 80s hits and hearing a bunch of my favorite songs/bands.

“What are all of these?” Mycroft asked, crouching down at a small table under his window in the sitting room. They had spent the day going through Greg’s belongings, organizing things and deciding what would be kept and what would be thrown away or donated.  He was going to be moving in with Mycroft within the week, and it was an ideal time to do so. 

 

“Hmmm?” Greg hummed in response, glancing over his shoulder from where he was packing up his small collection of books to see Mycroft pulling out a large box.  He grinned as he recognized the sharpie scrawled across it in his sloppy, younger handwriting. “Ah, that.  _That_ is quite a prized collection of mine.  Take a look.”

 

He turned back to his books, putting up the last of them before shifting across to his DVD collection.  Yep, these would definitely be going.  He couldn’t wait to put his partner through a huge James Bond marathon.  Maybe then the younger man would get all the goofy references he couldn’t resist when it came to talking about his job sometimes.

 

“Records?” Mycroft ask, raising his eyebrows as he had opened the flaps and started flipping through the albums that were in here.

 

“Yep!” Greg grinned brightly. “Those are my babies, Myc.  Got me through a lot of years, let me tell you.”

 

“I’ve…” Mycroft started, continuing to browse through them. “I’ve not heard of any of these bands.”

 

Greg paused where he was lifting DVDs and blinked. Mycroft seriously hadn’t just said… He did, though.  He blinked again and opened his mouth, pausing, before setting the cases down and turning.

 

“Seriously?  None of them?” he asked, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops.

 

“Not a one,” Mycroft confirmed, resting back on his heels and glancing back at the older man.

 

“Well, I’m fixing that.  Now.  Pull out that turntable down there.”

 

As Mycroft did that, Greg wandered into the kitchen and pulled out two beers.  It was rare that the younger man drank beer, preferring a fine wine or whiskey instead, but this one was a bit more high end and something they could both enjoy. Plus, with all the organizing they would still be doing, any of the others would not be a good mix. He opened them and tossed the caps on the counter, walking back into the sitting room and handing one of the bottles over before sitting down next to him.

 

“Okay.  Time to jump into a very important part of my life,” he smirked, taking a swig of his beer before setting it down and browsing through the box, contemplating what to play first.  He knew Mycroft had been brought up very different from him, but it still surprised him that he hadn’t heard of anything in here.  He wondered, though, if he’d heard of some of these songs without realizing who they were. Mycroft remind silent and observant next to him, slowly drinking his own beer as Greg went about choosing.

 

“Okay, here we go,” he nodded, pulling one out. “This is first.  This song is one that an entire pub’ll break out into come the chorus if it plays on the jukebox. Very enthusiastically, at that.”

 

Setting the record in, Greg got it playing. The expected fuzzy noise started before the song, and then the synthesizer and marimba set in, and he sat back with a grin.  He picked up his beer again, adjusting the volume as Africa by Toto filled the sitting room. Mycroft watched Greg, clearly just as fascinated with how he was reacting to the song than the song itself. He raised his eyebrows and couldn’t help but smirk as the older man started singing along with the chorus, lifting his beer and grinning as brightly as he possibly could.

 

“Okay, now, you do know this band,” he commented as he pulled out the next one, as Africa faded off. “I listen to them all the time.”

 

London Calling started playing, and Greg watched the glint of recognition in his partner’s eyes.  Mycroft nodded, tapping along with the beat with his fingers as Greg hummed.  He listened to The Clash like crazy, so he knew there was no way Mycroft would have missed it. Nevertheless, it made him a bit proud that he was as into it as he seemed to be.

 

They sat and listened to music for the next hour straight, practically.  Greg went through some Prince, U2, Crowded House, The Smiths, David Bowie, and Huey Lewis and the News.  He sang along with almost all of them, not really able to help himself, and Mycroft just watched with a permanent smile sitting on his face.

 

“So the records are coming with then?” Mycroft smirked, setting his empty beer bottle aside and settling his hand on Greg’s knee.

 

“Of course,” Greg said without hesitation. “Did you like any of it?”

 

“I did,” the younger man admitted. “Almost as much as I liked watching you like them.”

 

Greg blushed, rubbing the back of his head and chuckling a bit.  Leaning in, Mycroft pulled the older man closer by settling fingers along his chin and turning so he could kiss him properly.

 

“I’m so glad to be moving in,” Greg whispered against his lips.  Mycroft hummed.

 

“Me too, Gregory.”


	228. One Awful Week

Greg was having an awful week. It was one of the worst weeks he’d had in a long time.  He’d been working practically around the bloody clock on three separate cases because they were understaffed and couldn’t afford the extra manpower to help.  One of them was pretty clear-cut and dry, but the hoops they had to jump through made it horrendously time-consuming, because there was a bureaucrat involved.  The other two… they were messy.  One of them had quickly elevated to Sherlock Holmes status, and getting more stressful by the day, and the other was just… _ugh_.

 

On top of all of this, his goddamn ex-wife was trying to bring lawyers back into their custody case, which had been solved ages ago.  They were splitting time with the girls pretty evenly now every month, and Christina clearly wasn’t happy about that.  She had no steady ground to work with, so he knew it would all fall through and he wouldn’t lose any of his time with Elizabeth and Abby, but the added stress was something he definitely didn’t need right now.

 

The icing on the cake, though, was really what made the week miserable: Mycroft was out of the country.  Mycroft was basically Greg’s lifeline and strength when it came to shit like this, and he was off in Russia or Turkey or somewhere (but most importantly not in their bed).  He’d been gone for two weeks now, and was guaranteed to be there for at least another week, before he could come home.

 

Greg felt like he was at the end of his rope. He was stressed out beyond belief, and honestly, he was rather depressed.  He hated going home to an empty house but he couldn’t stay in his office 24/7, because he might make himself sick if he did that.  He was practically on the verge of that already, because he’d barely had the time or energy to keep up normal eating habits, but...   Basically, he was an absolute mess.

 

The only thing getting him through the days right now was his nightly phone call with his partner.  Sometimes they were able to talk for an hour or two, but sometimes Mycroft had to end the call after 10 or 15 minutes, if something was happening. If they were lucky they would Skype, but that had been pretty rare.  At this point, though, Greg was fine with that.  He didn’t want to make things harder by letting Mycroft read his face and instantly knowing everything he was battling with. The younger man could always deduce enough from his voice.

 

Which is exactly what happened this evening.

  
“Gregory, darling, what’s wrong?” Mycroft asked after about 20 minutes of calm conversation.  Greg sighed, falling back in bed and scrubbing his face with his free hand.

 

“Things just really suck right now,” he answered after a moment, trying and failing slightly to keep his voice steady.

 

“The cases are getting worse,” the smooth voice on the other end of his mobile said.  Greg nodded, even though it couldn’t be seen.

  
“Yeah,” he sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And Christina is pitching a fit again.  I just… _God_ I wish you were here.”

 

“I know, Gregory.  I am deeply sorry.” Greg could hear Mycroft’s frown.

 

“It’s okay,” he shrugged, rolling over on his side and curling up in a ball. “You’ve got important work. I’ll deal.”

 

They kept talking, Mycroft taking charge of the conversation and slowly allowing Greg to relax.  Soon, sheepishly, he asked for the younger man to tell him a story to fall asleep to.  It was the only way he could successfully fall asleep in bed.  Otherwise, he had spent his nights on the sofa. Mycroft happily complied, launching off into a story of his and Sherlock’s childhood.

 

Greg had no idea what time it was when he woke. At first, he also didn’t know what caused him to wake up.  It was still pitch black, so clearly it was nowhere near dawn.  That’s when he felt the movement on the mattress, and a body shifting close to him.  What the hell?! He froze, eyes shooting open wide and fists clenching, before a slender arm wrapped around his waist and familiar scents hit his nostrils.

 

He blinked, still frozen.  Was it too good to be true?  It had to be.  He was dreaming. He-

 

“It’s me, Gregory,” Mycroft was whispering against his neck, smiling. “You are awake, trust me.”

 

Licking his lips, Greg managed to turn around in the grip, and even though it was dark, he was able to make out his partner’s face clearly.  He had to force back the tears that were welling up.

 

“How are you… here?” he finally managed to ask, touching Mycroft’s cheek hesitantly as if he was still trying to believe this was real.

 

“I took a jet, an African politician was generous enough to lend me.  We had to put the day’s meetings on hold, so I had some spare time.”

 

“So you flew all the way back to London to be with me,” Greg commented, laughing in disbelief.  Wow.

 

“Naturally,” Mycroft nodded, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll need to leave in the morning, but not before we’ve had breakfast together.”

 

Greg sighed, curling into Mycroft and burying his face into his pale neck.  He fell asleep to Mycroft stroking his hair and kissing him slowly, feeling better than he had in over a week.


	229. Glad You're Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a continuation of Day 226.

After four more glasses of whiskey each, it finally didn’t take much convincing for Mycroft to go home instead of back to the hospital.  They were both comfortably sloshed, and until Sherlock was awake and improving their presence there was rather pointless, so it would be more pleasant for everyone if they could both sleep in their beds that night.

 

Greg had wrapped an arm around the taller man’s body for support, and slowly they had made their way to the black car waiting for them.  They practically fell inside, laughing at each other, Mycroft leaning back in the seat and Greg leaning against him limply.

 

Soon, their laughter died off, both of them breathing softly.  Greg sighed, closing his eyes and fuzzily thinking about how close the two of them were. He also couldn’t stop thinking about their feet continuously brushing against each other under the table back in the bar.  It hadn’t caused their conversation to become awkward in the least, and while they were both extremely aware of it, neither man drew attention to it.  What was all of this meaning?

 

They didn’t say much on the drive to Mycroft’s. Greg’s car was there, being that he had dropped by to see the younger man when Sherlock had been put in hospital, and they’d gone over together.  In his state, he couldn’t drive home, so he wasn’t too sure what to do. Soon, though, the car was stopping and both of them were attempting to sit straighter.

 

“Come in,” Mycroft offered, waving a fluid, lazy hand towards his front door. “We can make some… Some coffee.”

 

Greg hummed and nodded, head bobbing lazily for a moment.  They worked on getting out of the car and practically stumbling to the door, where Mycroft fumbled with the lock for a moment before taking a deep breath through his nose and finally steadying himself.  Once they were inside, they took their jackets off and Mycroft waved Greg through to the kitchen.  The older man watched as Mycroft made his way to a fancy-looking espresso maker and start brewing two cups for them.

 

They took the coffee on the sofa, drinking in silence and working on sobering up.  It helped a bit, but…

 

“M’not gonna be able to drive home,” Greg said, staring down at the empty mug in his hands.

 

“It’s too late for a cab,” Mycroft pointed out. Greg furrowed his brow and opened his mouth to say something, but the younger man shook his head. “Apologizes, allow me to specify.  Too late for a cab I would trust currently.”

 

Greg chuckled.  He sighed, contemplating, but before he could get very far Mycroft was making a suggestion that completely surprised him.

 

“You can stay here,” Mycroft was saying. “I have guest rooms.  Or, ah, or the sofa if you would prefer.”

 

“T-thanks,” Greg nodded, licking his lips.

 

“It’s decided then,” Mycroft nodded, leaning forward to set his cup on the table. “I’m going to go to bed.  Make yourself comfortable wherever you see fit, Gregory.”

 

When Greg was left alone, he glanced around at the room he was in.  He’d been in here before, and he quickly recalled the time Mycroft had taught him how to play chess at this very table.  They’d had a fire going, and Mycroft had made tea, and Greg was absolute rubbish at chess and Mycroft had been having such a fun time.  He thought about the time he came in ranting over Sherlock for what had to be the millionth time, at the end of his rope, and Mycroft had said nothing. He’d listened patiently and then walked over and handed him a scotch.

 

Stretching out on the couch, Greg sighed and stared up at the ceiling.  Through all that, he kept thinking about earlier.  Perhaps there was just vulnerability there, something that came with his worry over Sherlock.  Perhaps Greg was reading too much into it.  But the way their feet had continued touching and stroking, and the way they were so relaxed and happy with each other…

 

He didn’t know if this was a miscalculation, and he didn’t know if he’d regret it in the morning.  But all of this caused Greg to sit up and stand. He stretched, biting his lip, and sighed as he walked out of the room.  He ran a hand through his hair as he glanced around, peering up a set of steps, before climbing them.  There were tons of rooms up here, and he wasn’t sure which one was the right one, so…

 

He peered into one that turned out to be a bathroom. As he settled a hand on the next one, he noticed a room across from him that had light coming out from under the door.  That had to be it. Nervously, he walked up to it and lifted his hand, before freezing.  He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and squaring his shoulders…

 

“Come in,” came a smooth voice before he could knock. Greg exhaled.  How Mycroft could do that, he’d never bloody know. Nodding to himself, he opened the door and walked in.  Mycroft was sitting in bed, wearing what seemed to be very silky pajamas, and the sight made Greg’s breath catch.  He’d never seen the man in anything more casual than his three-piece suits, and it was… gorgeous.

 

He stood there, unsure what to do next. He shifted his weight and glanced at the floor.  Without another word, Mycroft shifted in the bed and then reached over, turning down the duvet beside him in silent invitation.  Greg’s heart was pounding so fast, but finally, he made himself move.

 

Toeing off his shoes as he walked over, he hesitated before slipping into the bed until he was lying down, staring at the man beside him.  Mycroft gave him a gentle smile, before shutting the book he was holding and moving to lie down as well. He reached over to turn off the lamp in the room, and then turned towards Greg.

 

“What are we…” Greg started to whisper, but he saw the shape of Mycroft’s head shake.

 

“Sleep, Gregory,” he whispered in return. “It seems that we have been thinking much of the same thing.  I am glad you’re here.”

 

“Yeah,” Greg smiled, curling into the comforting warmth of Mycroft’s body.  This was clearly a bigger step than he ever thought possible, but that was okay. “I am glad too.”


	230. School Shopping

Mycroft walked out of the shoppe with what would probably be a permanent arch of his eyebrow, staring at his husband, who sitting on a bench with an amused look on his face.  The politician blinked as he made his way over, and sat down next to Greg with a sigh.

 

“See why I decided to stay out here?” he asked, smirking.

 

“What _is_ that bizarre store?” Mycroft asked, turning to the older man.

 

“That is called Black Rose, and it’s where kids Abby’s age love to hang out.  And older, but yeah.  It starts now,” Greg was chuckling. “I used to wear stuff like that, you know. Though I didn’t have a store specialized to it so nicely like she does.”

 

“There was no color.”

 

Greg had to bite his lip to keep from laughing out loud.  Watching his darling husband seemingly baffled by all this was pretty great.  He had almost wished they’d gone in together so he could’ve seen all this in real time.

 

“The man at the counter had a bright purple mohawk.”

 

“I wanted a mohawk when I was younger,” Greg smirked, and when he received an incredulous look from Mycroft, he couldn’t keep in his laughter any longer.

 

“Dear lord, seriously?” Mycroft asked, trying to ignore the giggles that just weren’t stopping.

 

“Yeah, seriously,” Greg nodded, wiping his eyes. He kept chuckling, and took a deep breath, before wrapping an arm around Mycroft’s waist. “But I didn’t. So no worries, love.”

 

They waited until Abby came bounding out with a bag in hand, grinning brightly as she darted over to the two men. Greg reached out to peer in and see what she’d picked up, glancing at the clothes and purse briefly before rubbing her on the top of the head.  They’d been out shopping for new clothes and supplies for school. She was starting her secondary studies, and Greg still couldn’t believe how big she was getting.

 

“Shall we get some lunch?” Mycroft proposed, standing and settling a hand on Abby’s shoulder.  The young girl nodded enthusiastically.

 

“Yeah!” she agreed, beaming happily.

 

“Surely we can find something nice and greasy nearby, yeah?” Greg suggested, winking as Mycroft looked openly offended.

 

“Something healthier might be preferable,” Mycroft muttered as they started walking, Abby happily leading the way.

 

“Aww come on Myc,” Greg asked, elbowing the taller man gently. “Let’s get some pizza or something.  I’ll make it up to you later.”

 

“You better,” Mycroft muttered, glancing pointedly at Greg, but finally agreeing.  This outing was for dear Abigail’s benefit after all, not his.  So they walked to a nearby pizza shoppe and settled in. Mycroft ordered water while the two Lestrades got sodas, and the posh man was thankful they at least had salads as well.

 

“So, Abster,” Greg was saying, leaning over the table. “What else do we need to get you?”

 

“Well, I gotta get some new shoes,” Abby started to ramble off, swinging her feet back and fourth as she thought. “And, ah. I have a list of books and stuff in my pocket.  I think that’s it?”

 

“Sounds like a plan,” Greg nodded. “So we’ll get your shoes next.  Then we can hunt around and see if we can get all your books while we’re out.  That should give us enough time for Lizzie to maybe start missing us, and we can do a big dinner before you have to go back to your mum’s tomorrow.”

 

Abby nodded, getting an almost sorrowful look at the mention of leaving in the morning.  It was clear she loved staying with them, and even though she still loved her mum, it was difficult sometimes.  Greg always picked up on it easily, and he changed the conversation quickly enough so that his dear 11-year-old wouldn’t dwell on it for too long.

 

Soon, food came, and they ate enthusiastically, until Abby excused herself to go to the restroom.

 

“She’s growing up, Myc,” Greg sighed, picking up a breadstick.  Mycroft hummed as he chewed on his salad. “My little girl isn’t so little anymore.”

 

“You should be proud of her, though,” Mycroft said. “She’s a fine young woman.”

 

“I am proud.”

 

Reaching over, Mycroft rubbed across Greg’s back gently.  It was difficult for the older man too, the seemingly constant custody battles and arrangements he had to deal with.  It was better than it used to be, and he got more time with them, but of course it was taxing on him emotionally.  Mycroft had plans of his own for later that evening, in the hopes to make his dear husband feel better.

 

“You’ll do better with this book list, I bet,” Greg said after a moment. “You wanna head that expedition?”

 

“I would love to,” Mycroft smiled softly, kissing Greg’s temple as Abby came back over, crawling back into her seat and chatting away.


	231. Stupid Fight

Greg had always had a shite temper. It was easy to get him fired up, and it was something that had gotten him into a lot of trouble in his youth. The worst thing about it right now was that, as he paced around the empty room still fuming, he could hardly remember what the catalyst of his fight with Mycroft was.

 

It had been a stupid fight.  Both of them were on edge, Mycroft snapped, and Greg flew off the handle.  They hadn’t looked at or spoken to each other in over an hour, and Greg was still thrumming with an irritated energy that made him want to leave the house completely and either go to the pub or pop over to Baker Street.  In the back of his mind, though, he knew that would have not been the best choice, so he remained inside.

 

He kept pacing and fretting and fidgeting with his shirt, until finally, he slumped his shoulders with a sigh and headed towards bed.  The bedroom was empty, so he could only assume Mycroft had holed himself up in his office. With a grimace, Greg worked on changing into clothes he could sleep in, tugging on sweatpants and an old baggy t-shirt and tossing the day’s clothes in a hamper.  He plugged his mobile up and wandered into the en suite to brush his teeth and splash water on his face, before getting the nerve up to go find his husband.

 

His shoulders were rigid as he cracked the door open, and even though he stepped inside and cleared his throat, the younger man didn’t look up at him.  He was typing away on his laptop, folders open in front of him, clearly deep in his work. Greg sighed.

 

“Coming to bed?” he asked, his voice still a bit too firm.  Mycroft clearly noticed, though he finally glanced up at him, his expression neutral.

 

“I have a lot of work to do, Gregory,” he responded.

 

“Fine.  Goodnight,” Greg practically snapped, turning and shutting the door before heading back into the bedroom.

 

He contemplated sleeping in one of the guest rooms. He found that he couldn’t, though, and he doubted Mycroft would come to bed before he was asleep, if he did at all, so he settled in and turned out the lights.  Lying on his side, Greg continued to frown as he curled up, tugging the duvet up and over his shoulders.  He closed his eyes, even though he wasn’t at all tired.

 

He had no idea how much time had passed, but he was still awake when Mycroft came into the room.  He heard the even footsteps of his husband enter, pausing for a moment, and Greg could swear he felt those pale eyes on him. He refused to move, breathing evenly like he was sleeping, but he knew Mycroft would know better. He listened to the rustling as Mycroft changed clothes and headed to wash up for the night as well, and then hesitantly, the bed was dipping next to him.

 

“You have no right to speak to me like that,” Greg said after a moment, when he realized they were both waiting for _something_. He was calmer at this point, partially attributed to the fact that he was starting to get tired, and he sighed.

 

“You had no reason to let your temper get the better of you,” Mycroft countered. “I was merely stating that-“

 

“No, Mycroft, you were treating me like one of your lackeys,” Greg interrupted, not turning over.  He was doing his best not to raise his voice and start the argument all over again. “I’m your _husband_. We are equal partners. I know I’m not anywhere near as smart as you, but that’s no excuse to order me around and expect me to bend to your every bloody will with my head bowed.”

 

“In no way was I insinuating that,” Mycroft muttered sharply.

 

“Yeah, you were,” Greg said, finally giving in and turning so that they were facing one another. “Stop pretending that you weren’t. You know how you speak to me, and you know how you speak to Sherlock.  You know how you speak to Anthea and all those politicians you deal with. Don’t play dumb, because it’s bloody unbecoming of you.”

 

Mycroft sighed, closing his eyes and pressing his lips together in a thin line.  Greg stared expectantly, waiting for… something.  He didn’t know what.  The minutes ticked by and neither of them changed expression or position. Finally, with an irritated sigh, Greg turned and sat up.  Maybe a guest bedroom wasn’t a bad idea tonight after all.

 

“Gregory,” Mycroft said quickly as he sat up. Greg froze and looked back to him. “Where are you…?”

 

“I don’t know,” Greg muttered with a sigh. He stretched back out, and after a moment, Mycroft reached out and settled an arm around his waist, pressing closer.

 

“I am sorry,” he said finally, and Greg looked at him. “You are correct.  I shouldn’t have talked to you in such a manner.  I’m just exhausted and I let my irritation get the better of me.  Please don’t feel you need to sleep elsewhere. If we must be apart, I can-”

 

“No, stay,” Greg sighed, turning into the touch and shifting close. “It’s fine.  We’re fine.”

 

The anger was gone.  Greg couldn’t be angry for long, really.  It was a stupid fight.  With another sigh, he shifted closer and pressed their foreheads together.

 

“Let’s just get some sleep, yeah?” he suggested, leaning in for a soft kiss.

 

“Gregory, I love you,” Mycroft said after a moment. Greg smiled a bit, kissing him again.

 

“I know.  And I you. Goodnight, love.”


	232. Up

“Daddy, up,” came Oliver’s little voice next to Greg, as he was standing in the kitchen working on dinner.  With a smile, he glanced down to see his son standing next to him, reaching up with his arms and wiggling his fingers.

 

“All right, Ollie, for a moment,” Greg said, bending down and settling his hands under Oliver’s armpits, grunting dramatically as he lifted him and rested him on his hip. “But daddy’s cooking, okay? See?”

 

“Yes,” he nodded, big brown eyes turning and staring down at the pots that were on the stove.  He reached out to touch the steam that was rising, fascinated by it, before pulling back and giggling.

 

In his short time speaking, Oliver had perfected some words.  He sounded quite sophisticated, which Greg could never help but smile proudly over. He still had shortened versions and baby talk, but he was becoming much more specific as of late, and there was no doubt that it was due a lot of Mycroft’s influence.

 

Though, currently his favorite word seemed to be ‘up’. Greg had never understood a baby’s fascination with being held all the time once they had finally figured out how to walk on their own.  This was the stage Oliver was currently going through, and there was no denying what a workout it was becoming.

 

“Okay love, daddy needs both hands,” Greg prompted after about five minutes.  He had to shift gears on food, and his arm was getting tired, so he turned and set the boy down before going back to dinner.  He heard Oliver’s very Mycroft-like huff, and he had to bite his lip to keep himself from laughing.

 

“Up, daddy,” Oliver repeated, poking at his leg a few times.

 

“I can’t Ollie,” Greg said, needing to stay firm this time. “Don’t you want to eat?”

 

“Yeah…” his son sighed.

 

“Then I need to cook, okay?  Why don’t you go find Papa while I finish up?” he suggested, turning off one of the burners and peeking in the oven.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw as Oliver watched him for a moment longer, before turning and carefully treading out of the kitchen.

 

*

 

Mycroft was sitting in his study, leaning over his desk and writing up notes he had to send over to the Prime Minister in the morning. His laptop was open in front of him, mobile lighting up with new messages from Anthea, and a folder with some surveillance photos spread out across the desk.

 

He was so caught up in everything he was working on that he barely noticed the door being nudged open.  After a moment, he did notice that he was no longer alone in the room and glanced up, but didn’t see Gregory like he’d initially expected. The corner of his mouth twitched up in a slight smile, because of course that meant their adventurous child was the one who had wandered in.

 

“Papa,” Oliver announced as he wandered over and stood next to his chair.  He raised his arms and gazed up at him. “Up.”

 

“Oliver, darling, Papa is working,” Mycroft pointed out, glancing at his laptop as he set his pen down.

 

“Up?  Please?”

 

Mycroft turned to look again, and knew immediately he was done for.  Oliver’s arms had lowered slightly and he was gazing up at him with those wide eyes, lips bent in a slight frown.  _Dear lord_.  It had been a dangerous thing the day young Oliver had perfected the Lestrade pout. It was hard enough dealing with it from Gregory, but there was no way he could resist a second one. This one was particularly more difficult to resist than the former.

 

“Okay,” he sighed, unable to refuse his child when he received that look.  So, turning in his chair, he reached down and lifted Oliver so that he was standing in his lap.  A little arm moved to rest on his shoulder, hand settling at the base of his neck, as he wobbled until finding his center of gravity.  Wrapping an arm around Oliver’s body carefully, Mycroft continued working the best he could, until Gregory called for dinner.

 

“Let’s go eat, Oliver,” Mycroft prompted, turning to set the boy back down, but Oliver made a small noise of complaint and clung to his Papa.  That was settled, then. He didn’t want to get down. Mycroft sighed and shook his head, but shifted his grip on Oliver and stood, carrying him out of the study and to where food was getting plated in the dining room.

 

“I see someone cornered you too,” Gregory commented with a smile as he glanced up.  Mycroft shifted Oliver, who was grinning rather proudly, and nodded.

 

“Indeed.  He turned those eyes on me.”

 

Gregory laughed.  Mycroft smiled a bit, and Oliver giggled because his daddy was laughing.  Finally, thankfully, he was okay with being put down (though only because he was sitting and eating dinner).

 

“I don’t know why he insists on being carried all the time,” Mycroft commented gently, watching Oliver tear apart a piece of bread and slowly chewing.

 

“It’s just a phase they go through,” Gregory said, and Mycroft smiled as he felt a hand settle on his knee. “Now that he knows independence, he wants to be with us even more.”

 

“That hardly makes sense,” he said, shaking his head and sipping some wine.

 

“It’s sweet though,” Greg pointed out. Mycroft hummed, nodding. He couldn’t deny that.

 

“Yes,” Oliver contributed, nodding pointedly in between bites of bread.


	233. So Much Paperwork

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> teen AU

When Mycroft walked into his and Gregory’s shared flat, the first sounds he heard coming from within were rustling papers and an annoyed groan.  He smirked a bit, setting down his book bag and toeing off his shoes.  Continuing to listen to the aggravated noises, he made his way into their small kitchen to put the kettle on.

 

He and Gregory had been living in this little flat for a few months now.  It wasn’t necessarily the type of lifestyle he was used to, and while he supposed they were living comfortably, it was nothing like the money his family had always been accommodated to.  They weren’t poor, not by any means, thanks to Mycroft’s trust fund.  Not that it would have mattered.  The teens had been able to move in together, and they were happy, and Mycroft had never thought he could be so lucky.

 

“Would you like tea, Gregory?” he called out as the kettle whistled.  There was a grunt that sounded.

 

“Ta, Myc,” he said after a moment, and Mycroft smiled softly as he pulled down a second teacup.  He prepared them the way they both preferred, before carrying them into the sitting room.  The older teen was sitting cross-legged in the middle of their sofa, with papers literally scattered all around him.  They were sitting on either side, and he was leaning over the table where more were spread out. Pen in hand, he was scribbling on sheet after sheet, his tongue poking out in concentration.

 

“May I sit?” Mycroft asked calmly. Gregory blinked, looking up as if he hadn’t expected him to be there.

 

“Ah, yeah, sorry,” he stuttered, sticking the end of the pen in between his teeth and working on organizing the papers on the sofa into some kind of neat stack.  He picked them up and set them on the end of the table, running a hand through his dark hair, and dropped his pen on the table.

 

“Employment papers?” Mycroft asked, though he already knew they were.  Gregory nodded, reaching out to carefully take the cup that was being offered to him and sipping on the steamy liquid.

 

“Yup.  Glad you’re home, I needed a break,” he smiled, leaning back into the couch in attempt to relax and not pay attention to the stuff in front of him. He hummed happily as he enjoyed the tea, leaning over to press a kiss to Mycroft’s cheek.

 

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, both of them decompressing from their respective days.  Mycroft let his eyes roam around the room, glancing at the many imperfections of this place they called home.  A lot of their furniture had been inherited from their respective parents, apart from the surprisingly comfortable armchair Gregory had found at a yard sale and their table, which one of Gregory’s friends had made in a woodshop class.

 

“How was class?” Gregory asked after a moment, leaning forward to set his cup down.

 

“Uninteresting, as usual,” Mycroft commented. He shifted and stretched his long legs out, draping them over his boyfriend’s lap gently.  Gregory settled a hand on his knee and started stroking gently. “We continued our mock debate, and unsurprisingly, I’m surrounded by people who don’t have any kind of original idea in their heads.”

 

“So you dominated it, yeah?” Gregory asked, smirking confidently.  Mycroft smiled.

 

“Naturally.”

 

“My boyfriend’s gonna be a super famous politician one day,” Gregory boasted up at the ceiling. “Gonna rule the world.”

 

“I am _not_ going to rule the world, Gregory, don’t be absurd,” Mycroft shook his head. However, there was a fuzzy warmth blooming in his chest.  Hearing the older teen’s unwavering confidence in him was immensely flattering. “England, maybe.”

 

Gregory burst out laughing at that, leaning forward and patting Mycroft’s leg.  He squeezed his knee as he leaned back again, covering his mouth with the back of his other hand until his laughter died down after a moment.

 

“I need to finish all this,” he sighed finally, glancing back at the stack of papers he seemed to be about halfway through.

 

“You’ll be done soon, darling,” Mycroft reassured, leaning forward to look at some of the pages near him.

 

“I’ve signed my name a million times,” Gregory pouted. Mycroft gazed at him sympathetically, reaching over to stroke his hair.

 

“Just a few more times.  I can make dinner in the meantime.”

 

“I have to pee in a cup tomorrow,” Gregory groaned, covering his face and leaning back, slumping down in the sofa some. “I haaaaaate peeing in a cup.”

 

Mycroft just shook his head, smiling gently.


	234. Poorly-Timed Phone Call

“Sherlock, will you _please_ just call your brother?” John asked in exasperation, his shoulders drooping as he wandered into the sitting room with a teacup in hand. Sherlock scoffed and slumped down further into his seat, intending to hide behind his violin, but John was giving him that _look_ , and he groaned.

 

“The last thing I want to do is talk to Mycroft,” he mumbled, huffing in irritation.  John sunk down into the chair across from him and crossed his ankles, sipping his tea with a frown.

 

“I know that, but we need to make sure we’ve got the Sussex cottage for that week,” John pointed out. “We need a proper holiday and I’d like to make sure nothing will get in the way of it.”

 

“Mycroft never uses the cottage,” Sherlock pouted.

 

“Maybe not, but the week we decide to go on a much-needed sex holiday will be the one time he does.  Correct me if I’m wrong-“ He paused to give Sherlock a pointed look at the small snort at that. “ _But_ having him pop in during that would be considerably worse than the five minute conversation you’ll have right now.”

 

“Ugh, fine,” Sherlock snapped without force, sitting up and putting his violin down against the edge of the chair. Leaning to the side, he snatched up his mobile and curled his feet up under him, punching Mycroft’s number a bit more forcefully than was probably necessary, though he just earned an amused eye roll from his partner.

 

He kept watching John drinking tea as he listened to the phone ringing.  Displeasure was emitting from his every pore.  John was lucky he radiated light that Sherlock just couldn’t ignore. Plus, the older man had a point. Mycroft interrupting their sex holiday would be rather horrifying.  Finally, after what took a ridiculously long time, the phone call was answered, and he was breathing heavily.

 

“Yes, Sherlock,” Mycroft huffed breathlessly, sounding… odd.  And annoyed. Sherlock smirked.

 

“Listen, John and I are going up to Sussex next week,” he snapped, wanting to keep this conversation as short as possible. “So you need to stay away.”

 

“Yes, fine,” Mycroft breathed impatiently. “I will stay away.  I had no plans to go up there anyway.  Is that all?”

 

“You’re in such a hurry to get off, brother mine,” Sherlock commented, drawing it out to taunt him now. “What, are you filing again?”

 

“Something like-“

 

“Mycroft, come back to bed!”

 

Sherlock froze.  His entire body went stiff and his eyes widened.  His brain had practically shut down.  Lips parting slightly, an odd groan left him, which caused John to focus on him in concern.

 

Mycroft was saying something, but Sherlock wasn’t listening.  A violent shudder went down his spine and he hung up the phone before chucking it across the sitting room, where it bounced on the sofa.

 

“Sherlock?” John asked in alarm, sitting up straighter. “What’s wrong?”

 

“He…” Sherlock started, blinking rapidly. How had he not known? That had been… “That was… **No**.”

 

“What happened, Sherlock?” John asked, closing the distance between them and kneeling down and squeezing his knee. Sherlock just stared down at him, blinking.

 

“Lestrade,” he said, as if that explained everything. He shuddered again.

 

*

 

Mycroft smirked as he wandered nude back across the bedroom, setting his mobile down on the stand and crawling into bed. Greg pushed himself up and immediately wrapped his arms around him, pulling him down with a happy laugh.

 

“Sherlock hear me?” he smirked, brown eyes shining as he clearly already knew the answer.

 

“Naturally,” Mycroft confirmed, running fingers through the older man’s messy silver hair. “I do believe you shocked him.”

 

“I shocked Sherlock Holmes?  Me?  Hell yes. This day just keeps getting better.”

 

“Does it now?” Mycroft asked, arching an eyebrow. Smirking even more, Greg hooked a leg around Mycroft’s, pressing up against him in a very suggestive manner.

 

“Oh yeah,” he said low, tugging Mycroft down to kiss him heatedly.  He slid his hands down to grasp at the younger man’s arse, grinding him down against him, which drew a gasp from them both.  Managing to get an ear in between his teeth, Greg nibbled gently as they rocked into each other with increasing need.

 

“Now where were we,” he practically growled.


	235. Next To Your Heart

Greg watched as Mycroft gathered up the last of his things, trying not to frown to himself at the thought of him going off on another trip. This one would be fairly short, thankfully. Neither of them expected it to last more than a week, and Mycroft seemed fairly confidant that it wouldn’t even be that long. Even still, he was making sure to be prepared for longer, just in case.

“Don’t go,” Greg said with a shrug, standing up and wandering over to where his husband was standing in front of their dresser. He walked up behind him and settled his hands on his waist, pressing a kiss to a shoulder blade.

“I wish I didn’t have to,” Mycroft commented, pausing in his motions to lean back into Greg’s sturdy body with a sigh. “But my presence is required.”

“I know,” Greg nodded, reaching up to squeeze his bicep before taking a small step back. “I still have right to pout about it, though.”

Mycroft smiled gently at that, turning slightly so he could kiss Greg’s forehead. Then, he was turned back to the dresser, putting the last of his things in the small bag that would be set in his suitcase. Then, once all that was done, he reached into a small box to pull out a medium-sized silver chain. Greg recognized the chain well, and couldn’t help but smile.

Mycroft was taking off his wedding ring and setting it on the dresser. Then, once he had unclasped the chain, he picked it back up and slid it on. Greg watched quietly as Mycroft put the chain around his neck. Before he could finish, Greg reached up and set his hands on top of the younger man’s slender ones. He curled their fingers together before taking over, gently fastening the chain and letting it settle against his pale neck.

“It’s one of those trips, huh?” he asked as Mycroft turned to face him fully now. He admired the way the chain set along his torso.

“It is indeed one of those,” Mycroft nodded, reaching up to brush a stray hair off Greg’s forehead. “My hand never feels right without it, though.”

Greg watched as a bit of sorrow slipped onto Mycroft’s features. It warmed his heart, and he smiled brightly. He placed a hand against his chest, rubbing gently, before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to the gold band. Mycroft was pressing his pointed nose in Greg’s hair, breathing deeply, as the two of them savored the presence of the other.

“It’s okay though,” Greg whispered, nuzzling his husband’s chest and kissing the ring again. “Because I’m here, next to your heart.”

“You are always next to my heart, husband mine,” Mycroft whispered, wrapping his arms around him in a secure hug. They stood there, holding each other tightly, neither man wanting to step back. When they stepped back, they would have to part. They wouldn’t see each other for a bit. It was always difficult.

It was Greg who finally moved first, as reluctantly as it was. Reaching up, he unbuttoned the top two buttons of Mycroft’s dress shirt and lifted the chain, slipping it under the tailored layers he always wore. Mycroft watched, saying nothing as he buttoned it back up. The jewelry was now completely hidden from view, where it would remain until Mycroft returned to him. Reaching up again, Greg pressed his hand against his chest, feeling the circle of the ring under the suit.

“I’ll always be there,” he said, staring at his hand. He exhaled shakily. He never got better at this.

“Always, my love,” Mycroft said gently. 

A beat passed between them before Mycroft used his fingers to push Greg’s head up, so that they were looking at each other. Greg’s dark brown eyes were so full of emotion, he was like an open book. He was frowning slightly, chewing on his bottom lip. The hand that was resting against Mycroft’s chest curled, tightening into the collar of his suit jacket, and with a slightly sad smile, Mycroft leaned in to kiss him slowly.

They wrapped their arms around each other again, exploring each other’s mouths in what was almost worship. Greg tugged on Mycroft’s bottom lip gently, stroking the back of his neck. They nuzzled before pulling away, pressing their noses against each other just enough to make them both smile.

“Come back to me,” Greg said finally, cupping Mycroft’s cheek.

“I wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise.”

“I love you, Mycroft.”

“And I you, Gregory.”

They kissed again, before finally forcing themselves apart. Greg helped with Mycroft’s bag, and with a final hug and series of fluttering kisses, Mycroft was climbing into his black car and driving off.


	236. Amusing Conversations

Silence filled the room, apart from the exhausted breaths of the two men curled up together in twisted bed sheets. Greg rolled over, curling his legs in with Mycroft’s and tugging the duvet up over their bare waists slightly. Pressing close, he kissed one of the younger man’s freckled shoulders, closing his eyes as he focused on his heart rate returning to normal.

 

Sex with Mycroft was unlike anything he’d ever been prepared for.  The man was absolutely skilled and brilliant in bed, and very easily turned Greg to mush under those slender fingers.  Hooking his leg around Mycroft’s, he pressed into his side comfortably and traced small circles along his arm.

 

“What has you smiling like that?” Mycroft asked, raising his eyebrows curiously as he gazed the older man.

 

“You, of course,” Greg commented in return, his smile brightening even more. “You’re amazing.”

 

“Nonsense, I’m nothing of the sort.”

 

Greg rolled his eyes, pressing closer and draping his arm across Mycroft’s stomach.  He admired the freckling all along his pale torso, unable to keep from thinking about how not fifteen minutes prior he’d made it his mission to lick every single one. He felt like he’d been pretty successful at it, too.

 

“You do realize I’ve never had anything like this before, don’t you?” Greg whispered after a moment, stroking Mycroft’s side and watching the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.  Mycroft said nothing at first, having settled a hand on his arm, so Greg risked glancing up at him.  Mycroft’s face didn’t give much away, but it was clear he was very focused on the conversation.

 

“I’ve never…” he continued after a moment, licking his lip absently.  He didn’t miss the way Mycroft’s pale eyes flicked down to watch the action, and it gave him all-too familiar warmth down in his gut. “I’ve never had someone who cares as much as you do.  In all aspects of this. I’ve never been with anyone who just knows me as well as you do; who knows my body as well as you do.”

 

“Observation is key, and you’re very expressive when we’re intimate,” Mycroft commented, reaching over to stroke his hair. “If you would have me, I would spend hours just memorizing every inch of you.”

 

Greg blinked, his entire body shuddering a bit at that. There was not only something really intimate and sweet about it, but also something very conquering and possessive in the way Mycroft’s eyes flared as he spoke.  He pulled back enough to settle a bit more on his back, gazing intently at his partner.

 

“I will gladly have you.  Always.”

 

Mycroft rolled over, shifting so that he was half lying on top of Greg, slipping a knee in between his legs. He leaned in and started to run his nose and lips along the curve of Greg’s neck, breathing deeply and curling closer. Greg hummed in pleasure; feeling stirrings in him so soon after they’d already brought each other to orgasm.

 

“You make me feel like a bloody teenager,” he said gruffly.  Mycroft chuckled against his pulse point.  He kissed and nipped a bit, earning soft whimpers from Greg, but after a moment he calmed and settled against his body more calmly.

 

“I never have either,” he commented, gazing down at Greg and taking in his rumpled appearance and lazy arousal even now. “Had something like this, I mean.  Sex was always a means to an end before.  A one-time thing that was mutually beneficial to both myself and the other person. Lord knows I never desired a repeat performance, nor was it something I required very often.”

 

“You just didn’t have the right partner,” Greg smirked. Mycroft grinned and nodded.

 

“That’s precisely it,” he agreed. “Because you, my love, are irresistible.”

 

Pressing close, they kissed.  The kisses shifted between being lazy and unhurried, to heated and back again, each man stroking the other’s warm skin teasingly. Greg pressed their noses together, nuzzling affectionately and wrapping his arms around Mycroft to hug him close.

 

They cuddled up again, continuing to absently touch and kiss each other softly.

 

“So tell me about a bad one, then,” Greg prompted after a moment.  Mycroft arched a single eyebrow.

 

“A bad one?” he asked, seeking confirmation.

 

“Yup.  Someone who was right awful.”

 

Mycroft blinked, before shaking his head as he laughed gently.

 

“You are absurd,” he commented, but he seemed to ponder on it for a moment. “Well, there was this boy a few months younger than me that showed a lot of interest back in school.  It was the end of the year and I was focusing on the last of my A-levels, and I needed an outlet.  He was almost a bit too eager to comply, and while he claimed to have a lot of skill in the area, I honestly would have felt better if I’d just rubbed one off myself.”

 

Greg listened curiously, before he was unable to keep from busting out laughing as he listened to Mycroft talking about _rubbing one off_. That was a phrase he’d never heard the posh man say, and he would pay money to hear it again.

 

“So he was rubbish?” he asked through amused giggles. He probably should have stopped laughing, but it didn’t seem to put Mycroft off, so he wasn’t too concerned about it.

 

“Yes, it was enough to stave me off of sexual activities with another individual for a few years.” Smirking, Mycroft focused back on Greg fully, reaching out to stroke his cheek.

 

“Your turn,” he requested, pale eyes shining.

 

“Well, I could talk about the drunken blowjobs that got rather dangerous, but those are no fun.  There was this one chick in uni though that must’ve practiced giving blowjobs on popsicles, because that’s basically what she acted like my cock was.” Mycroft’s eyes widened, but Greg just laughed. “Clearly I got away unscathed, and she meant well and everything, but… yeah.”

 

They slipped into comfortable, rather hilarious discussions about their various conquests – both good and bad. Greg recalled hearing from someone once to never talk about old sexual encounters with your current partner, but he couldn’t see the downfall.  It didn’t seem to affect either of them negatively, and in fact, not only was it bloody fun, but it seemed to make them both appreciate what they had created together all the more.

 

Before they knew it, the time was well past midnight. In fact, it was bordering on 3a. Conversation began to die down again in favor of more kissing and touching, which easily escalated to Mycroft lying on top of Greg and rolling his hips slowly until they were both panting and moaning and bringing each other to release for the second time that night.


	237. Defending Him

Mycroft nodded as he walked past the random officers sitting within New Scotland Yard.  A few of them had gotten used to seeing him here, and for once, it wasn’t because of Sherlock.  It was a wonderful feeling being able to come freely to see Gregory without the pretense of something professional, and it was almost too good to be true.

 

More than once, he caught himself wondering when Gregory would realize the kind of man he was and end what they had. Mycroft had never been one to hold up a relationship, for he’d never cared before now.  When it came to his emotions, while he wasn’t as rough as his younger brother, he was nothing like any of the people that were currently around him.  The insecure part of himself that had always been there kept asking when Gregory would get out of that haze and this would all be over.

 

He’d never been concerned about something like that happening before now.  He’d never given over to sentiment like this.  It was a dangerous road to go down, but the older man had a way of worming past years of barriers and making Mycroft happier than he’d been in a very long time. He certainly endeavored to enjoy it while he was able.

 

As he made his way over to Gregory’s office, he glanced at the cracked door curiously.  He slowed as he made his way over, voices carrying out of the room that belonged to his partner and Sergeant Donovan.  Pausing, Mycroft pressed his lips together in a thin line and hesitated, wondering if he should come back later, or at least text Gregory. He was glancing down to pull out his mobile when he overheard their conversation.

 

“Yeah, but, he’s the freak’s _brother_ ,” Donovan was saying.  Mycroft’s eyes slanted.  He had never appreciated the Sergeant’s nickname for Sherlock, but even more than that, why was he currently the topic of their conversation?

 

“Yeah, he’s Sherlock’s brother,” Gregory countered, sighing tiredly.  Mycroft could imagine the man pinching the bridge of his nose as he spoke. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

 

“It’s just weird, Greg,” Donovan said, sounding puzzled. “I’ve only seen him a handful of times, but the man seems absolutely terrifying and emotionless.  At least Sherlock gets irritated or excited, or angry.  I’ve never seen Holmes the elder do remotely any of that.”

 

“Well I have, and more,” Greg said. There was a soft thump that might have been a hand hitting down on a desk. “Look, you’ve seen him when he’s been working, okay?  Sal, it’s really nothing you should be passing judgment on.  You have no idea what he’s like.”

 

Mycroft blinked a bit.  Gregory’s voice was getting more passionate. He felt strange, his heart pounding as he listened to his partner… defending him.  He licked his lips, unconsciously leaning closer.

 

“Mycroft is bloody amazing, Sally,” Gregory was continuing. “He’s passionate and caring beyond imagination.  He knows just what to do or say to make me smile, to make me feel loved.  He knows me better than anyone and he doesn’t hesitate to show it.  He smiles and laughs and they’re the most amazing sights on this Earth. He’s smarter than anyone I’ve ever met, which I’m consistently in awe over, and he’s so talented he puts people to shame.  Just when I think he can’t be brilliant at anything else, I see or hear him do three more things to the best of anyone’s possible abilities.  So don’t stand there and pass judgment based on your tension and resentment for Sherlock.  They may be brothers, and yes, they are a lot alike in many respects, but that means nothing when it comes to Mycroft as a person.”

 

Mycroft’s lips were parted and he sucked in a soft breath in shock.  The emotion in Gregory’s voice was unmistakable.  It was alarming, and warming in a way he never would have admitted.  There was silence, but Mycroft could hear his heart pounding in his head like a drum.

 

“Bloody hell boss,” Sally said in a more hushed tone after a moment.  She sounded much like Mycroft currently felt. “You really love him, don’t you?”

 

“Yeah.  Yeah I do.”

 

Turning, Mycroft strode out of the room and down the hall to a water fountain.  He took a few moments to catch his breath, taking some drinks, and letting the overheard conversation truly sink in.  Gregory clearly meant and felt every word he’d just spoken.  He swallowed, focused on recovering and getting his pounding heart under control, before turning to head back towards the office.

 

The door was open now, and Donovan was sitting at her desk.  She glanced up, seeing him, before managing a hesitant smile and nodding.  He nodded back and headed in, pausing to knock at the door.

 

“Hey,” Gregory greeted as he looked up, grinning brightly. Mycroft couldn’t help but beam at the sight.  His heart was pounding again.

 

“Lunch?” he managed to asked, reaching out with a hand. Gregory nodded and stood, walking around and leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

 

“Sounds great,” the older man agreed. They stared at each other for a moment, before he tilted his head with a puzzled look on his face. “All right?”

 

Mycroft could only imagine the look he had on his face. He still couldn’t get over everything he’d heard.  His heart was bursting with affection, and he couldn’t help but smile brighter as he reached over to cup Gregory’s cheek.

 

“Better than,” he whispered, kissing his partner on the head, before they walked out together.


	238. No Heat

Greg shuddered for what had to be the millionth time in the past hour.  Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration.  But he was bloody cold.  He wanted to go home and bury himself under the biggest mound of blankets in the world, but he couldn’t. No, instead he was sitting in a quiet conference room with the Holmes brothers, buried in case files that seemed never-ending.

 

The Yard had no heat.  It had broken three days ago and no one was able to come get it repaired for at least another four.  It was also part of the coldest winter they’d had in a long time. At least, it certainly felt like it. Maybe the lack of heating probably made it feel worse than it did, but…

 

“Christ, it doesn’t feel like we’ve gotten anywhere,” he groaned, scrubbing his face roughly and slumping back in his chair. His fingers felt numb. He wiggled them a bit in attempt to circulate heat into them again, frowning slightly.

 

“Because you’re not focusing,” Sherlock growled, shooting him a glare before pulling out a series of photographs.

 

“Because I’m _freezing_ ,” Greg snapped back, quickly losing patience.  He wanted to go home.

 

Next to him, Mycroft remained quiet. He was typing something up on his mobile, and then he glanced across the table at the files that were sitting out. He looked until he found the one he was looking for, which was on the other side of Greg’s body. He shifted, leaning across the table to grab it, causing their shoulders to press together.  Greg blinked, saying nothing, but he couldn’t ignore the heat that started to creep into him at the simple touch.  He glanced down at the table, feeling a bit flustered and trying to keep the smile off his lips.

 

Sherlock scoffed regardless, noticing the movements and standing.  He announced something about coffee and strode out of the room, leaving them alone. Mycroft straightened, but he shifted again, pressing closer to Greg.  Now their thighs were touching, and licking his lips, Greg finally managed to glance over at him.

 

“It is cold,” Mycroft said simply in way of explanation, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a slight grin. He opened the folder and started flipping through its contents.  Unable to help himself, Greg leaned in to glance at them as well, but also to relish in the younger man’s body heat some more.  His shivering had stopped, and while he was still chilly, it was nowhere near as bad as it had been.

 

“Hey,” Greg whispered, eyes shifting to gaze up at Mycroft. He slid a hand over, settling it on the man’s thigh and rubbing the expensive materials gently. “Where are we in this case, really?”

 

“Close,” Mycroft admitted, a bit reluctantly. He had stopped reading, leaning back a bit to glance at the hand that was on his leg. “We just need a bit more time.”

 

“Wanna come home with me after?” Greg asked, tilting his head and leaning closer.  He was very warm now, and suddenly, he wanted nothing more than Mycroft to join him under his mound of blankets.  Work had been keeping them apart for a while, and here they were, pressed against each other under the pretense of how cold it was, but it was more than that. Sherlock had obviously noticed it immediately.

 

“I find that to be a very agreeable suggestion,” Mycroft nodded, flipping through the pages and then glancing at his mobile as it vibrated on the table.

 

“Anthea?” Greg asked.  Mycroft hummed his confirmation, picking it up to reply to her.

 

Greg wanted to kiss him.  Badly.  He missed those lips. Just as he was going to lean in, the door swung open again as Sherlock rejoined them.  Greg jumped, shifting away out of general habit, and the younger Holmes just rolled his eyes again as he set down three cups of steaming liquid for them.

 

Greg reached for it, sipping it and trying to focus on the case again.  The quicker they got to a stopping point, the quicker he and Mycroft could leave together. Of course, he started shivering again, and he huffed as he clutched his cup a bit tighter.

 

Movement next to him caused him to glance over, watching as Mycroft was turning to grab the coat he had draped over a chair. Wordlessly, he turned towards Greg and draped it over his shoulders.  Greg blinked.  Their eyes locked, and Mycroft smiled again softly, squeezing his shoulder affectionately before turning back to the folder again.

 

Greg tugged the coat tighter around him, turning his head down and smiling into the collar a bit.  He took a deep breath, Mycroft’s scent surrounding him, and it felt amazing.  He shifted close to press their thighs together again, smiling happily as he picked up his files again.


	239. Warming Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a few requests for a sequel to Day 238, and I couldn't resist. Blankets and hot chocolate? Yes please. :3

They collapsed on the couch, laughing breathlessly and panting, in a tangle of sweaty limbs and nudity. Mycroft made a shift to move, and Greg wrapped his arms around his waist and curled close before he could. He didn’t want the younger man going anywhere.

 

“Gregory, _clothes_ ,” Mycroft commented, gazing down at the older man with a pink flush still on his cheeks and chest, hair messy and eyes hazy with leftover arousal. Greg shook his head and hugged him tighter.

 

“Nope,” he panted, grinning brightly as he curled their legs together. “Come on, Myc, we’re home alone, let’s just be naked for a bit.”

 

Mycroft chuckled, but he stopped fighting and just curled into his partner’s body.  They had finally gotten home from the Yard after another few hours, when the lack of heat became too much for Greg and Sherlock got too annoyed with how cuddly the two of them had started to become.  What had started as a suggestion for a cup of tea in front of the fire quickly turned into heated kisses, which became much more arousing and intimate than they’d initially planned.  Apparently there was more than one way to warm each other up.

 

“I know you mentioned tea,” Greg said lazily, drawing light circles across Mycroft’s chest as he watched it rise and fall with his breaths.  He ghosted his fingers across the fine, gingery hair, a small smile seemingly permanent on his face, feeling the slight hitches and stutters in the younger man’s breath as he brushed across his sensitive nipples or got to a more ticklish area. “But what about some hot chocolate instead?”

 

“Hot chocolate?” Mycroft asked, raising his eyebrows curiously.

 

“Mmhmm,” Greg nodded, drawing a line down his pale stomach until he reached his bellybutton.  Mycroft’s breath was stuttering again slightly.

 

“I suppose that would do just as well,” Mycroft finally agreed, playing with the hair on the back of Greg’s neck. “A rather uncommon suggestion, I will admit.  Do we even have any?”

 

“Of course,” Greg chuckled. “I have some left over from the girls’ last visit.  It’s perfect for these cold, wintery nights.  I can go make it, and you can fetch us some blankets?”

 

“Yes, that sounds agreeable.  Though I will be putting my robe on,” Mycroft said pointedly. Greg chuckled.

 

“Fine, but _just_ your robe.”

 

Greg didn’t have to look at Mycroft’s face to know he was rolling his eyes, but he grinned as he finally sat up and pulled himself away from his partner.  He stretched as he stood, lifting his arms above his head and sighing happily. Then, glancing over his shoulder, he found Mycroft staring at him rather intently.

 

“Appreciating the view?” he asked with a smirk, unable to keep from wiggling his arse.  Mycroft promptly threw a small pillow at him.

 

“Walking around in the kitchen naked,” Mycroft scoffed playfully as he went to make his way to the bedroom. “You’re an absurd man.”

 

“And you love it!” Greg called after him as he wandered into the kitchen.  Yes, naked.

 

He was careful as he prepared the hot chocolate, because he definitely didn’t need boiling water splashing onto his bare skin. Talk about uncomfortable. He listened to the sounds of Mycroft walking around the house, smiling to himself happily as he pulled down two mugs and prepared it, unable to keep from adding a few marshmallows to each. He could only imagine the look he’d get for that one, but sod it, hot chocolate wasn’t perfect without marshmallows. They were so cute and tiny.

 

Carrying the mugs back into the sitting room, he found his partner back on the sofa, with the promised mound of blankets. He was also wearing a dark blue silk robe, but he did comply with Greg’s request and didn’t put pyjamas on underneath it.  Greg noticed as he appreciated the upper thigh that was peeking out of the opening.

 

“Thank you for not putting on too much,” he said in a soft voice, biting his lip slightly at the teasing view. It was so sexy. It was also extremely rare that Mycroft did something like that, so it make it that much more exciting. If he wasn’t careful, he could easily get hard again before too long.

 

Their steaming drinks were set on the coffee table as Greg settled back in and starting pulling blankets over the two of them. It took some adjusting, and they shifted and stretched and folding blankets here and there, but finally they were settled in quite comfortably.  Greg leaned forward and grabbed their drinks after this, and sure enough, Mycroft arched an eyebrow again as he stared at the marshmallows floating in his mug.

 

“Oh hush, it’s a requirement,” Greg huffed playfully as he sipped his.  He hummed happily, snuggling into Mycroft’s side.  He could deal with the Yard not having heat for another two bloody months if he would be able to spend his nights warming up in the best manner possible.


	240. Sick and Stubborn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the second one of the day, to make up for not posting one last night. I was just insanely exhausted when I got home from work, and once I was in bed, there was no getting out of it. Lol.

Greg was right pissed the entire car ride home. The only thing keeping him from yelling and pitching a fit was the fact that his partner was slumped over in the passenger seat, trembling, and looking as white as a sheet. The man had been sick for over a week now, and currently had a fever, and he’d been left in bed with explicit instructions to stay there until Greg got home from work that day.

 

He only wished he had been surprised when the text from Anthea had come three hours later commenting on the fact that Mycroft was in his office. 

 

“You’re a stubborn bastard and I’m bloody furious with you,” he commented in a soft, yet hard voice.  His only response was a weak, muffled cough as Mycroft was leaning over and pressing a fist against his mouth.  Sighing, the younger man slid sideways, pressing his temple against the window of the car. 

 

Greg frowned.  They needed his fever to break.  He’d been fighting it for at least 24 hours now and no matter what, it just wouldn’t break.  It was high, and clearly doing a number on his body.  Greg had hoped that the man would have been too exhausted to really get up and do anything, but when his mind was on his work, apparently nothing would stop him.

 

“My apologies, Gregory,” Mycroft croaked hoarsely, wincing and frowning at the obvious pain that throbbed through his throat when he spoke.

 

“Stop talking,” Greg sighed, shoulders slumping as he focused on driving them home.  He just wanted to get him home.  He wanted to get him back in bed, force some meds and tea down him, and hopefully watch him fall asleep.  He knew it wouldn’t be too hard to achieve that part, though, because the man was practically falling asleep in the car.

 

Finally, they got home, and Greg carefully helped Mycroft out of the car.  He was hunched over and swaying unsteadily on his feet, clutching to Greg’s coat for dear life as they very slowly made their way inside their home.  Greg didn't stop leading him until they had made it to the bedroom, and he helped lower Mycroft down onto the mattress.

 

Wordlessly, he helped Mycroft undress, sliding each layer off his trembling shoulders and setting the clothing aside to be dealt with later.  He provided a solid support while the sick man shifted to get his trousers off, and then he went over to fetch a pair of pyjamas and helped him get dressed again. As he folded up the clothes and carried them over to their hamper for washing, Mycroft clumsily got himself under the duvet and buried in the pillows.

 

“I’m making tea,” Greg said gently, still furious but the flame of anger all but burned out now.  He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll be back.”

 

Mycroft made a broken hum of acknowledgement, turning into the pillow and covering his mouth as he started coughing again.

 

Greg texted Anthea of their arrival home as he walked back down and into the kitchen, and then texted Sally to let her know he wouldn’t be back in the office that afternoon.  He focused on making the tea in record time, searching the cabinets for medicine and a fresh cloth he could douse with cool water to settle on Mycroft’s head.  If the man’s fever didn’t break by this evening, Greg was taking him to hospital.  He knew his partner would fuss and complain and deny needing to do so, but he didn’t care.  He had made that decision and was going to be firm in it, and Mycroft would just have to deal.

 

He really hoped it wouldn’t come to that, though. He really hoped that his fever would break as he slept this afternoon.  Greg was going to do everything he could to help get Mycroft to that point. With a sigh, he draped the cloth over his shoulder and carried tea up in one hand, medicine in the other, listening to the seemingly never-ending coughs coming from their bedroom.

 

“Here we are,” he announced, setting the medicine down on the nightstand. “Can you sit up?”

 

Mycroft nodded, unable to respond vocally as he continued to cough.  Moisture was shining around the edges of his pale eyes from the force, and Greg licked his lips, waiting patiently until he could gather himself enough to sit up. When he did, Greg passed the drink over.

 

“Thank you,” Mycroft croaked, grimacing as he sipped his tea.  It was physically telling the relief he felt, as his shoulders seemed to ease comfortably and his eyes fluttered closed with a soft sigh.  Greg left him to drink that as he wandered into their en suite. He ran cold water, getting the cloth completely soaked before wringing it out of the excess water.

 

He toed his own shoes off as he went back into the bedroom, and set the cloth down long enough to shrug out of his coat and shirt. Then, tugging off his own trousers, he wandered over to the bed in just his pants, picking up the cloth again before joining the younger man in bed.

 

“You don’t… need to stay in here,” Mycroft said. His voice was still hoarse, but it was already slightly improved thanks to the tea. “I’m just going to sleep. And I might get you sick.”

 

“Don’t care,” Greg said, shaking his head. “I’m taking care of you.  Because you clearly can’t do so yourself.”

 

Mycroft tried to finish his tea, giving him a withering look.  Greg glared halfheartedly.

 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he huffed. “If someone hadn’t ignored his boyfriend’s instructions and had stayed home instead of going to his office, you would maybe have the right to look at me like that. But you did, so you don’t. Now finish your tea.”

 

Mycroft tried.  His stomach didn’t allow him to drink the entire thing, but he got three-fourths of the way through it before setting it aside on the nightstand. He took his medicine and then slipped down in bed, burrowing under the covers and shifting closer to Greg’s body.

 

Greg stretched out beside him, dabbing his clammy, pale face with the cloth.  Mycroft’s eyes fluttered closed with a sigh and a small cough, and before Greg could say anything else, he was fast asleep.


	241. The Price Of Field Work

Wrapping his hand around Mycroft’s silk tie, Greg pulled him close and into a slow kiss.  Mycroft sighed and pressed close, wrapping his arms around the shorter man’s neck, moving with Greg as he took a few steps back towards the bed. Greg’s head was spinning. No matter how much they kissed, he couldn’t get used to the sensations.  Every time, his breath was taken away as their lips pressed against each other in the most perfect ways.

 

Dinner had been amazing, as always. Greg loved when they went out on dates. They’d eaten a great meal, and shared a top shelf bottle of wine.  They finished off the bottle too, which possibly had a little bit to do with the head spinning, but regardless.  Greg cupped Mycroft’s cheek, rubbing the soft skin gently as he pulled back and gazed up at him with slightly hazy eyes.

 

“C’mere,” he grinned, tugging again on the tie gently as he sat down on the bed.  Mycroft followed suit, sitting next to him and turning his body so that they were facing each other as directly as possible.  Greg turned as well, parting his legs so that one was stretched out and settled in behind Mycroft’s back, allowing him to press even closer. His hands went up and started to unfasten the silky tie, and he closed the distance between them to start kissing and nipping at Mycroft’s jaw.

 

It was not the first time they’d ended up in this position.  However, it always got to a point where Mycroft redirected Greg’s advances, moving away from full blown sex to something more along the lines of mutual blow jobs and such, without ever fully undressing each other.  It never bothered Greg, and they never talked about it.  He was open to sex and he wanted the option out there, but he would never press it if Mycroft didn’t feel ready.

 

The tie’s knot undone, Greg tugged it off of Mycroft’s neck and dropped it to the ground.  His lips found the younger man’s earlobe and sucked, causing a soft gasp to leave his mouth.  Mycroft’s back arched just slightly, and in that motion, Greg slipped off his jacket and dropped it to the floor as well.  He kept sucking on Mycroft’s earlobe, biting the soft flesh just enough to draw out another amazing gasp, sure fingers shifting to start unbuttoning his waistcoat.

 

He felt Mycroft stiffen next to him momentarily, but in that moment Greg had also been running his tongue along the curve of his neck so he almost immediately melted into him once again.  Emboldened, Greg finished unbuttoning the fine fabric so he could move on to unbuttoning his dress shirt as well.

 

“You have so many layers,” he couldn’t help but whisper against Mycroft’s neck, huffing warm breath against him in amusement. He was about halfway done with the buttons of Mycroft’s shirt when the politician froze again, and a slender hand wrapped around Greg’s wrist.

 

“Gregory…” Mycroft started, face flushed in what had to be the most gorgeous sight.  It made Greg want to whimper.  He tried to focus, though, lifting his head and watching the man patiently.

 

“Yes, Myc?” he asked, hands stilling but not retreating.

 

“I don’t want you to think I don’t want this…” Mycroft said, trailing off and glancing down at his lap self-consciously.

 

“If you’re not ready, it’s fine,” Greg said, shaking his head.  He straightened a bit, starting to move his hands away, but the grip on his wrist tightened as pale eyes met his own.

 

“No, it’s not that,” Mycroft said quickly. “I am, there’s just… Something you need to…”

 

“Mycroft, whatever it is, it’s all fine,” Greg whispered.

 

Silence fell between them, until finally, Mycroft nodded.  Moving Greg’s hands away just slightly, he finished unbuttoning his shirt the rest of the way himself. His heart was pounding in his chest as insecurity screamed inside his mind not to do this, Gregory would not want to see this, he may never want any of this once he sees… He pushed all those thoughts down, however, and squared his shoulders as he pulled the clothing off.

 

Greg’s heart seemed to stop.  Apart from the fact that Mycroft looked gorgeous – smooth and pale, with an adorable light dusting of gingery chest hair he found himself dying to run his fingers through – there were markings sporadically placed across his skin. Scars.  With wide eyes, he leaned in and touched the jagged edge of one that seemed to run up and across his shoulder, where it disappeared likely down his back.

 

“Mycroft…” he breathed, brow furrowing slightly. Mycroft wasn’t looking at him.

 

“When I was younger,” he started to explain, voice uncharacteristically small and unsteady. “I did field work for MI6. It was… not always the most pleasant experience.  I was captured and beaten on a few separate accounts.  Tortured. Even the most skilled of officers cannot always avoid such scenarios.”

 

Greg’s gaze shifted down to another jagged line across his side.  He frowned again, hand hesitating over it before touching gently.

 

“My back is worse,” Mycroft muttered sheepishly.

 

“Show me?” Greg managed to ask, voice a bit rougher than he’d expected.  Clearly Mycroft hadn’t expected it either, as he started blinking rapidly, but with a hesitant nod he turned.

 

Greg had to bite his lip to keep himself from gasping out loud.  His back _was_ worse.  It was so much worse.  There was a whole manner of scars across his skin, varying in size and shape.

 

“Whips, burns, cuts,” Mycroft muttered. “Basically anything you can think of.  Trying to pull information out of me.  State secrets and attack methods, for a start.  They were always unsuccessful, though I came close a few times. I’m surprised I survived all of the encounters.”

 

Greg made a noise in the back of his throat that had Mycroft whipping his head around in confusing and concern.

 

“I am sorry, I-“ he started hastily, but Greg cut him off as he practically dove onto him and crashed their mouths together. The kiss was intense and full of emotion that couldn’t quite be explained, and they clutched at each other tightly. When they parted, they were both panting softly, and Greg’s eyes were full of emotions that couldn’t be named.

 

“Mycroft,” he said, voice even more rough, shaking slightly. “So this is why we-“

 

“Yes,” Mycroft nodded, interrupting him and glancing away. “I didn’t want you to see the state of me.”

 

“Shut up,” Greg said with a shake of his head. “You… you are the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid my eyes on. Yes, even with all of those scars. Scars that each hold huge significance, and make me feel for you even more than I thought was possible. Christ.  Mycroft, please let me take you to bed.”

 

Mycroft complied eagerly, and once they had brought one another to climax, they collapsed on the bed and curled up together. They were silent as they both attempted to recover, and Greg nuzzled close, resting his cheek on Mycroft’s shoulder and hooking a leg around his slender one.  The hand that had been settled lightly on his chest moved to trace the start of the first scar he’d laid eyes on.

 

“No one will ever hurt you like this again,” he whispered, his voice quivering slightly. “Ever.”

 

“I do have a desk job now, Gregory,” Mycroft reminded him with an affectionate smile. “It is part of the reason why I decided to take my life in that direction.”

 

“Still,” Greg whispered, kissing his shoulder. “Never.”


	242. Sharing Dessert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all. So, once I have this chapter uploaded (because yes this is definitely a lot earlier than I normally publish them, haha), I am leaving home for a few days on a rather spontaneous mini-vacation. Meaning, since my computer is not a laptop, there will be no new chapter tomorrow. Depending on when I get home on Monday, there will either be two chapters posted then, or on Tuesday. I will definitely be caught up by then with a double chapter on one of those days. Just wanted to give everyone a heads up! ^_^

“Let’s get dessert,” Greg suggested, glancing over at Mycroft, as they were finishing up dinner.  If they didn’t, the waiter would get them all wrapped up, and while it was normally fine, the older man was feeling a bit of a sweet tooth tonight.  Mycroft gave him a slightly withered look, which he had expected.  The younger man was very strict on his diet a lot of the time, something Greg never thought he needed to be, but regardless, he was.

 

“Oh, come on,” he pressed gently, leaning close and nudging Mycroft with his elbow. “Just a small dessert?  We don’t have to get the mega large chocolate brownie with ice cream or anything – though that does sound good.”

 

“Gregory,” Mycroft sighed, though he was shaking his head with a slightly amused smile on his face.  Greg took that as a small victory.

 

“Please?  We can split something, even.”

 

“All right, fine,” Mycroft gave in, setting his napkin up on the table and leaning back in his chair. “You make it rather difficult to say no to, you know.”

 

“I know,” Greg beamed triumphantly.

 

He glanced around, signaling their waiter the next time he was nearby, and was given a warm smile as he approached. Greg glanced at the menu briefly before ordering a serving of white chocolate mousse and two miniature streusel coffeecakes.

 

He shifted closer to his partner as they waited, and they fell into casual conversation about their days.  They also shifted to talk of the vacation they were working on planning.  Work had been into overdrive for them both for the past few weeks, and as long as they could avoid any ridiculous crises, they were going to get away for a week or so. They were still trying to decide on where, though Greg was starting to lean towards one of Mycroft’s initial suggestions of Barcelona.  He’d found himself absently browsing through images of Barcelona during his lunch break the past few days, and he had to admit how wonderful it all looked. It was quickly becoming his favorite.

 

They were in the middle of discussing that more concretely, and Mycroft talking about some of the things they would have access to if they decided to go there, when their desserts finally arrived. Greg pulled away a fraction, though not as far as they had been during dinner, and picked up one of the two small spoons that had been brought out with the mousse.

 

“Lord this is good,” he sighed happily, savoring the taste with a sigh.  Mycroft chuckled as he picked up his own spoon as well.

 

“Yes, an excellent choice,” he hummed with a smile. Greg’s chest burst with pride.

 

“I’m glad you agree,” he beamed before taking another bite. “You can indulge yourself every now and again.  You know everything Sherlock says is bollocks, right?”

 

There was hesitation in Mycroft’s expression, before the younger man glanced down at the mousse and shook his head a fraction. Greg frowned slightly. It still continued to baffle him how a man so confident and sure in every other aspect of his life could be so reluctant and closed in when it came to his diet.  Greg had made it his mission every day to always show Mycroft how irresistible he was, how gorgeous.  He wanted to always make him feel loved.

 

Smile coming back, Greg reached out and plucked up one of the small coffeecakes.  He shifted close again and held out the cake in offering.

 

“Here,” he grinned. “Try it.”

 

In the times where they did eat dessert, whether they were out or at home, Mycroft had taken to accepting some of the finger-food desserts from Greg’s hand like this.  They had been doing it playfully one night, and then it just… became a more common thing.  Mycroft always put up a show of exasperation, as he insisted on doing tonight as well, but still he leaned in and opened his mouth to accept the dessert.  When Mycroft ate dessert and smiled gently, Greg felt proud.

 

“Exquisite,” the younger man complimented once he had chewed and swallowed the small cake.  Greg grinned wider as he picked up his own, amused by the curious looks a few people at the surrounding tables gave them as he was feeding his partner. Let them stare.

 

They finished off their mousse, and then Greg leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to Mycroft’s jaw.

 

“Thank you for dessert,” he whispered in huge appreciation.  Mycroft closed his eyes with a smile, before turning his head a fraction to press a kiss to his lips.

 

“You always make the decision worth it, Gregory.”


	243. Not Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, we're back in the game. I got home too late to get anything written last night, so my plan is two tonight and two tomorrow. That'll get me back on track! Thanks for being so patient guys. <3

Greg grunted, stretching slightly and reaching to the side… to find the bed empty beside him.  Sleepily, he furrowed his brow and opened his eyes, yawning and glancing next to him.  Mycroft had been there when he’d fallen asleep… The en suite light was off so the younger man wasn’t relieving himself.  Did he get an emergency phone call?

 

Rubbing his face, he sat up and glanced around the room.  His robe wasn’t hanging off the door, so he had to be home.  Not called into work.  Greg leaned over and plucked up his mobile to check and see if he had a message. Nope.  Well, getting up and searching for him it was.

 

He stood, stretching and wandering over to where his own robe was draped over a chair.  He tugged it tightly around him and tried to cover up another yawn as he drowsily wandered out of the bedroom.  There was a light on in the kitchen and so curiously, he headed in that direction.

 

The kitchen was empty, but there was a kettle on the burner.  When Greg walked over to it, it was still warm.  So tea _had_ just been made. Not an unusual thing, even at this late hour, but the open cabinet was.  Mycroft was as clean and tidy in the kitchen as he was anywhere else, and more than once when they first moved in together Greg had been fussed at for doing just that. It set off a bit of an alarm in his mind.  It wasn’t like the posh man at all…

 

His attention was drawn to hushed whispers coming from the sitting room.  Greg pressed his lips together and crossed his arms as he inched across the room. Lingering near the entrance, he finally peeked around the frame and saw the dark ginger hair that belonged to his love on the other side of the sofa.  His head was bent, so Greg couldn’t see his expression, but he did notice that his brow was furrowed and his hair was still messy from sleep, falling down against his forehead.

 

“Myc?” he finally asked in a soft voice, and his partner’s shoulders tensed visibly.  Greg blinked.  How had Mycroft not even have heard him come down?  What was happening?

 

“Gregory,” Mycroft returned, glancing up at him. His pale eyes were distant, and there was even more tension there.  Tension and…worry.  Fear? Greg had gotten pretty good at reading his other half at this point, and none of this pointed to anything good.

 

“What’s happening?” he asked, stepping forward. Not responding, Mycroft’s eyes flicked down to the sofa again.  Licking his lips, Greg took the final few steps so he could peer over the back of it.

 

What he saw made his breath catch in his throat. He had to bite his lip to keep from making an audible noise of distress.  He hadn’t seen this in… He huffed, leaning forward and bracing himself against the back sofa and stared down at the younger Holmes.  Sherlock was curled up on the couch, and even though most of him was hidden within his Belstaff, his frame was clearly trembling. His face was pale and shining with what had to be sweat, and he was gripping his collar so tightly his knuckles were even whiter.  His eyes seemed to be open, though Greg could only tell so much from where he was standing. What he could see, though, was that they seemed to be darting back and fourth wildly, but not staying still enough to focus on anything.

 

“He’s… Mycroft, don’t tell me,” Greg practically begged, knowing all the signs too well but desperately not wanting to believe it. Sherlock hadn’t looked like this since before John Watson arrived in their lives, all those years ago. This was clearly drug withdrawal. There was no denying it. He had seen Sherlock like this many times at crime scenes, or at his dingy health hazard of a flat before he’d moved into 221B.

 

“He is,” Mycroft confirmed, his silky voice fragile and broken.  Greg stared at him and his heart broke even more.  It was hard enough for him to see Sherlock on drugs again, but for Mycroft…

 

“What can I get?” he asked, shifting into the fatherly role he’d long ago adopted when it came to the younger Holmes. He squared his shoulders and straightened, and Mycroft stared up at him like he was about to break down any moment.

 

“A cool cloth, perhaps,” he managed to say, swallowing and brushing damp curls away from Sherlock’s forehead. “I’ve managed to get some tea and water down him, but…”

 

“I’m on it, love,” Greg interrupted before Mycroft could continue.  Turning, he headed back into the kitchen to hunt down a cloth to get wet, wringing it out before heading back and crouching down next to his partner.  He started dabbing at Sherlock’s face, causing the younger man to flinch and whimper. 

 

His free hand settled on Mycroft’s knee and squeezed gently.  He saw Mycroft watching him out of the corner of his eye, but his attention was on Sherlock. It had been years since the two of them had teamed up to get Sherlock through a bad drug crash. He had desperately hoped it was something they never would have had to do again.  But here they were, and at least they knew what had to be done.

 

“Thank you Gregory,” Mycroft whispered. He sounded like he was on the verge of tears, and utterly exhausted.  Greg just wanted to hold him.

 

“Always, Myc,” Greg decided to say, turning to gaze at him properly and squeeze his knee again. “Always.”


	244. A Silent Conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of 243.

Greg had a hard time sleeping after the events of the previous night.  With a strung out Sherlock Holmes finally passed out on their couch, he had coaxed Mycroft back up to bed to try and get a few hours sleep.  Mycroft had been so distressed, even if it wasn’t entirely open. Greg could always tell, though. How quiet he was, and how stiff his body was for a while even after they’d curled up in bed together…

 

Finally, the younger man had fallen asleep in Greg’s arms with his face buried in his chest.  He had tried sleeping too, and he got a bit, but he was still so worried. He didn’t understand what had gotten Sherlock back on the drugs.  He had seemed fine when he came back from his supposed death, even if things were a bit rocky for a while between him and John.  Still, for the most part, he seemed to be himself.  But now…

 

Sighing, Greg pulled himself out of bed and tugged on sweatpants and an Arsenal t-shirt.  It was his day off, and he couldn’t appreciate the detective’s timing more than he did now.  Mycroft had clearly not enjoyed having to leave, but he was required at very important meetings and Greg had pushed him out the door anyway.  Besides, he still remembered how Sherlock used to be with these things. It was hard enough getting cooperation out of him when he was just him and Greg, but add the older brother that had tension in their relationship to begin with, and they’d get no where. It pained Greg to admit it, and even more so to say it out loud, but Mycroft clearly agreed.

 

Wandering down to the kitchen, he went over to start the kettle.  He stared at it for a moment, before setting it aside and firing up the coffee pot instead. They both would need something stronger than tea.  Quickly, he poked his head in the sitting room to find Sherlock thankfully still stretched out on the sofa. Allowing himself a soft smile, he went to make their coffee while shooting Mycroft a quick text to let him know he was still here.

 

It was only after he had the fresh, strong coffee that he walked into the sitting room.  Ignoring how much his partner frowned upon it, he sat down on the table so that he was facing the sofa and set the mugs down with enough of a thud to be heard, but not spill the hot liquid.  Sherlock’s form jerked, and Greg stared patiently at the messy batch of curls poking out of the top of his Belstaff.  Still wearing it.  Of course.

 

“I know you’re awake,” he said evenly, threading his fingers together and leaning on his knees. “So you can stop pretending.”

 

There was a huff, but finally, Sherlock shifted and moved to stare up at him.  His eyes were bloodshot and he was still pale, though no longer quite as sickly looking as he had been mere hours before.  Thank heavens for small mercies.

 

“Go away,” Sherlock muttered hoarsely, drawing his knees up to hug against his chest.

 

“Nope,” Greg said, shaking his head. “I doubt you’ve forgotten how this works.  I’m not going anywhere.  Now sit up, I’ve made coffee.”

 

Sherlock didn’t comply at first. Greg hadn’t expected him to. But he continued to sit there and wait, watching the small twitches on Sherlock’s face at the silence between them.  Finally, the detective huffed again and uncurled himself enough to push himself into a sitting position. His coat fell off his shoulder a bit, revealing his gray sleeping shirt that Greg didn’t think he’d ever seen him wear outside of his flat.  He waited until Sherlock seemed to settle in before handing over one of the coffees. They drank in silence before the older man approached conversation again.

 

“So why exactly are you back on drugs?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm and soft.  Sherlock scowled and stared down into his coffee, and Greg sighed. It had never been easy, but he’d hoped that maybe it would be different now.  He didn’t know why.

 

“Sherlock,” he started again, a bit more sternly. He set his coffee down and crossed his arms. “Start talking.  I haven’t seen you in two weeks, not since John and Mary’s wedding.  And then I come down here last night to find you coming down from a nasty high.  Just talk to me, please.  You know I’m only concerned about you.”

 

“It has _nothing_ to do with the wedding,” Sherlock remarked, but he didn’t look Greg in the eyes when he said it.  Perhaps dating a Holmes and knowing the two men for as long as he did made it easier to pick up Sherlock’s cues as well.

 

“Okay,” Greg nodded, not completely believing it. “But regardless, why?  You’ve been off all that crap for so long now.”

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Sherlock spat, glaring hard. “None of it matters.  Stop pretending like it does, it’s exhausting.”

 

“Damn fucking straight it matters,” Greg snapped back. “Do you remember anything about last night?  Do you remember how this affected Mycroft? You know he bloody loves you, right? You know it destroys him to see you like this.  You know it destroys you too. It would destroy John. It destroys me.”

 

“None of you matter,” Sherlock argued, gripping the mug so tight Greg was almost worried he would break it. He gritted his teeth and glared.

 

“Don’t you dare sit on Mycroft’s couch and look at me after seven fucking years and say I don’t matter,” he said. He knew Sherlock was fanning the flames. Greg was fine giving into that for once. Sometimes you needed to. Sometimes it was the only way to show the other person the feelings were there.

 

Silence fell between them.  Sherlock stared at his coffee and Greg finished drinking his without leaving.  There was tension there, but the Detective was slowly losing that tensions the longer the minutes ticked by.  Greg waited. Until finally…

 

“You love Mycroft,” Sherlock said, and Greg stiffened and blinked.  That had honestly been one of the last things he had expected.  He licked his lips and set his mug down, before leaning forward on his knees again.

 

“Yeah, I really do,” he nodded. He didn’t _want_ to deny it.  Plus, any conversation they could take place was better than nothing, he’d come to learn over all this time.

 

“He feels the same, you know,” the younger Holmes continued to mutter.  Greg glanced down at his hands and licked his lips.

 

“I very much thought that when he asked me to move in with him,” he admitted.  He could feel Sherlock’s eyes bearing into him.  Even after all this time it was an unnerving sensation.

 

“And John…” Sherlock started, but his voice wavered in a way Greg hadn’t expected.  He risked looking up, and barely kept his jaw from dropping at the obvious agony on Sherlock’s face.  Greg had always wondered, always assumed, but… this confirmed it.

 

Taking a risk, Greg reached out and settled one of his hands over Sherlock’s.  The detective froze and stared down at the contact, but surprisingly, didn’t pull away. After a moment, their eyes met, and there was an understanding there.  There was a silent conversation that needed to be done.

 

“I’m going back to sleep, Lestrade,” Sherlock finally muttered, breaking the moment and pulling away.  However, he did tug his coat off before curling back up on the sofa, pressing against the back of it and shutting his eyes. Greg nodded, picking up the coat and walking over to hang it up.

 

“Stay as long as you need,” he whispered, knowing Sherlock could still hear him. “You’ll always be welcome here.”

 

He pulled out his mobile to text Mycroft. Things weren’t good, that much was clear.  But that had been something. And Mycroft… Mycroft loved him. It wasn’t something they’d really said out loud, but… Maybe they should.  Maybe tonight would be the time.


	245. Into Comforting Arms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to write two tonight, but my brain is having a hard time functioning so one was all I could manage. Hopefully tomorrow will be more cooperative and I'll be caught up then.

Having to go out of the country was always very taxing on Mycroft.  He would easily be gone for weeks at a time, dealing with exhausting and stubborn people that really stretched his patience to its limit.  He was always unable to keep up a steady sleeping schedule or diet. Not that it was much better back in London, but there he had Anthea, and his dear Gregory, to even things out.

 

That, of course, always made these trips harder. It wasn’t easy being away from Gregory. It was necessary, of course, but it surprisingly didn’t make it any easier to deal with. He had become so accustomed to sleeping next to another body, sharing that warmth and comfort, that sleeping alone in hotel rooms was nothing like it used to be.  Some days Mycroft still couldn’t help but sit back and wonder how in the world he had come to care for someone so much.  It was absolutely terrifying but he knew now that he’d never change it for anything.

 

The plane ride home would have been optimal time to catch a few hours sleep.  Mycroft was exhausted and it had been his plan, and had seemed like the best decision, but… Now that he was on it he couldn’t fall asleep.  He busied himself with some work on his mobile, remaining in contact with Anthea and checking in with Sherlock to see if he’d even touched the case he’d dropped off at 221B before he’d left (he hadn’t, naturally), and could not sleep.

 

He stared out of the window for the majority of the flight, lost in his own head.  Long ago he had taught his little brother about what they now commonly referred to as their Mind Palaces.  Sherlock more so than himself, but that was beside the point.  It helped to deal with everything; to make the trip more bearable. Mycroft could slip into all thoughts of home, to what he was returning to, and he felt a warmth he never wanted to let go of.  Ever.

 

Anthea was waiting outside of the airport with a car as he stepped out into the London night some five hours later. He glanced up at the starless night as he stepped out, and gave her a slight nod, which she returned without looking up from her Blackberry.

 

“I trust your flight went well?” she asked softly once they’d settled in and started the drive across London. Mycroft hummed, leaning his umbrella against the door.

 

“As well as to be expected,” he responded with a soft sigh. “I am grateful it is done with, of course.”

 

“I figured as much.  Your schedule is rather open tomorrow, and everything on your desk can wait an extra day while you recover from being home. I have a few meetings, but they are too minor to worry yourself with and I can email you a summary of what takes place.”

 

Mycroft remained quiet, nodding as he listened to what she was saying.  He wouldn’t need to say out loud that he was grateful for her, because the words never needed saying. Nor did either of them need to say that the day off was less to do with recovery on his part, and more to do with spending some uninterrupted time with Gregory.  He smiled slightly, shifting to glance out the window, and turned to his assistant as the car slowed to a stop.  She glanced up from her small screen to nod at him.

 

“Have a good night, sir,” she commented with a smile. Mycroft allowed himself to give one back.

 

“I plan on it.  Good night, Anthea.”

 

Gathering up his umbrella and briefcase, he stepped out of the car to find the driver had already gotten out and pulled out his suitcase.  He thanked the man, who waved off the words kindly, and headed on inside.  The place was quiet and had minimal lighting, so Mycroft left his belongings at the door to deal with later and headed towards the bedroom.

 

He stepped inside, glancing at the bed, where he found his partner stretched out and scrolling through his mobile, clearly about ready to fall asleep.  Even with as drowsy as he was, Gregory lit up in a huge smile when he saw Mycroft walk in. It was beautiful.

 

“Hey stranger, welcome home,” he said, fighting back a yawn.  Mycroft smiled back, making quick work of his coat and waistcoat, toeing off his shoes and for once, not caring that he wasn’t in his pajamas yet as he crawled into bed and immediately into the older man’s arms.  He nuzzled close, sighing and closing his eyes.

 

“It’s good to be home,” he whispered against his partner’s chest, listening to his soft breaths and even heartbeat. It was so soothing. Then the man’s fingers were in his hair and Mycroft knew he wasn’t getting back out of bed tonight. He could make the exception this once.

 

“Missed you,” Gregory rumbled, pressing kissing into Mycroft’s hair.

 

“And I you,” he said in return, letting his eyes fall shut. “Desperately so.”


	246. Punky Dress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teen AU ^.^

“Gregory, this is absurd.”

 

“Oh come on, it’ll be fun!”

 

“I’m not going to fit into anything you provide me.”

 

“Nonsense.  You’re barely a few inches taller than me.  It’ll be fine.”

 

Greg couldn’t help but grin at the huff he heard his boyfriend emitting from behind him.  The boy was a stubborn one, that was for sure.  Luckily, when Greg had his mind set on something, not much could talk him out of it.  Not that he was overly determined to go to this house party, nor did he think they would stay long.  He was honestly surprised Mycroft had agreed to attend at all.  It was definitely not his kind of scene, but the fact that he agreed made Greg feel pretty damn special.

 

His current mission was finding something suitable for the younger teen to wear.  As much as he adored the crisp school uniform and tailored suits Mycroft tended to prefer, he would stick out like the sorest thumb imaginable.  He dressed like the high-class businessman or politician Greg was confident he would become when he was older, but right now…  His wardrobe would definitely attract twice or three times the attention he was already guaranteed to get.  It was no secret in their school that Mycroft Holmes was not a social butterfly.  Greg still basked in the shock some people portrayed when they found out the two of them were dating.

 

Tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration, he dug further into his closet, pulling out shirts and vests and tossing them aside to find something better.  This was most likely the one time he’d get to see the posh teen in punky clothes so he wanted it to be the best it possibly could.

 

“Aha!” he exclaimed finally as he pushed into one side of his wardrobe.  Collecting the garments he’d found, he draped everything over one arm and wandered back out into the bedroom fully, and over to Mycroft. “Here you go.”

 

Mycroft stared at the outfit, blinking.  There was hesitance and confusion in his eyes that Greg couldn’t help but find adorable.  He’d seen plenty of clothes like this on him, of course, but had never been presented with them in such a manner before.  He was quiet as he watched Mycroft blinking rapidly, before finally reaching out and taking them.

 

Closing the distance, Greg gave Mycroft a quick kiss on the cheek and patted him on the bicep before turning back to retrieve an outfit for himself.  This decision didn’t take quite as long (not that he’d expected it to, because this was now his daily thing).  Keeping in mind the setup he’d chosen for Mycroft, he made his selections to coordinate just enough to ensure they’d look damn good together.  He settled on a pair of purple jeans with a matching purple belt, an orange tanktop that had a sunburst design going across the front that was also purple, and a leather vest that had studs across the collar and small chains hanging from the breast pockets.  He also nudged out his orange Chucks and took a few larger chains off his dresser to attach to his belt loops.  Finally, he completed his ensemble with a silver chain that had his grandfather’s wedding band on it and two thick, black bracelets - one for each wrist.

 

He was in the middle of fixing his hair, adding a bit of gel to it to get a slight spiked, swooping effect, when a throat was cleared softly behind him.  His hands stilled, and he took a moment to peer a bit closer at himself before turning to face the boy behind him.  Almost instantly, his breath left him.  He blinked, staring at Mycroft, and his jaw practically dropped.

 

“What?” Mycroft asked, pressing his lips together in a thin line and shifting his weight from one foot to the other.  There was clearly an element of self-consciousness in his mind, and even with the way his posture suggested, and Greg wanted to grab onto that element and throw it in the bin.

 

“You… Christ Myc, you look fucking sexy,” he breathed, causing Mycroft’s pale eyes to widen in surprise.

 

The younger teen was wearing red jeans that fit his slender legs like a glove, and Greg was impressed with how successfully he’d positioned the three studded, skinny belts he’d given him.  One went through the belt loops, of course, and the other two sagged across his hips diagonally.  He had on a mint green dress shirt that he’d left untucked and the sleeves had been rolled up past his elbows and fastened with the small buttons provided.  Over that he had on black vest similar to Greg’s, but with more studs accenting the pockets and edges.

 

Swallowing, Greg pulled himself back into focus and turned back to his dresser briefly.  Plucking up a few items, he crossed over to his boyfriend, eyes running along his form appreciatively.  He handed over two skinny, studded bracelets that matched his belts, waiting for a moment while Mycroft secured them to his wrists.  Finally, he draped a tie around his pale neck, making sure to unbutton the top three buttons of the shirt before tying it loosely so that it framed the skin now showing.

 

“Oh honestly…” Mycroft sighed, his cheeks flushing a bit as he glanced down at himself.  Reaching out, Greg stroked the soft skin of his chest gently.

 

“So here’s the plan,” he said a bit roughly, and was almost surprised by it. “We’ll show at the party.  Have a drink or two.  Stay for, like, an hour tops.”

 

“And after?” Mycroft asked, eyebrows raised high at the unexpected change in events.  The younger teen had been under the impression they were going to stay much longer than that.

 

“After, I’m bringing you back here,” Greg whispered, leaning in and brushing along Mycroft’s jaw with his lips.  The younger teen sucked in a breath and clutched at Greg’s shirt slightly. “And I’m going to do unspeakably dirty things to you.”

 

“Gregory,” Mycroft whispered, shuddering slightly. “That would be… most preferable.”

  
The heated kiss they shared had the silent promise for what was to come, and Greg hoped this would not be the last time he’d be lucky enough to see his boyfriend looking so badass and sexy and rebellious.


	247. Learning To Bake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we're back on track! Yaaaay!! Thank you for being so patient with me this week! You guys are the best. <3

“Don’t be afraid to get a little messy, love,” Greg laughed brightly, leaning close and nudging Mycroft with his elbow. “That’s half the fun.”

 

“Cake batter is sticky and can stain rather unforgivingly, Gregory,” Mycroft said, staring pointedly at the mixing spoon in the older man’s hand.  What had started out as a simple discussion about Greg’s culinary talents in the kitchen turned into what some of their favorites were.  Which led to what Greg had the most fun making.  Which led to finding out Mycroft had never baked a cake before.

 

“C’mere,” Greg grinned, hooking his index finger into Mycroft’s belt loop and tugged him close.  He leaned in under the guise of a kiss, before surprising Mycroft by lifting up the mixing spoon and lightly bumping it against his long nose. Mycroft made a noise of surprise and leaned back, blinking as he tried to see the cake batter that he could definitely feel.

 

 _“Gregory_!” he frowned, glancing at the counter to try and find a napkin. Still smirking, Greg tugged him back again and leaned forward, wrapping his free arm around Mycroft’s waist and hopping up on his toes just enough to lick the batter off.  The noise Mycroft made that time was of a lot more appreciation, suddenly seeing the benefit of getting a little messy.

 

“See?” he asked softly, gazing up at his partner with affection.  Mycroft smiled and nodded.

 

“Yes, perhaps a bit of mess while baking can be a good thing,” he amended, earning a pleased chuckle from Greg.

 

“You should know by now to trust me on the bizarre, love,” he teased, licking some batter off the edge of the spoon. “Now, let’s get this in the oven.”

 

Once they’d put it in to bake, they cleaned up the original mess they’d made, before starting in on the icing. Greg insisted on having it made by scratch too, because it was really the best way to enjoy a cake, and this was a learning experience after all.  The older man gathered up in the ingredients, but he stepped aside to let Mycroft work through most the steps himself while providing all the right instructions.

 

Mycroft began to get more playful as they made the icing, much to Greg’s pleasure.  More than once he scooped up some of the icing they were making and shoved it onto Greg’s face, getting his cheek and nose and lips.  This always let to a nice bout of intimacy between them, complete with gentle and maybe a few not so gentle kisses.

 

The consistency seems off,” Mycroft commented after Greg had announced they were done.  The older man nodded and tilted his head towards the fridge.

 

“Getting some chill on it while the cake finishes will fix that,” he said, grabbing a flannel to wipe off the counter. Nodding, Mycroft lifted the bowl and carried it over to set it in the fridge, before glancing at the timer they’d set for the cake.

 

“I cannot begin to show my appreciation for this experience,” he commented as he leaned against the counter, glancing down at his bare arms where he’d rolled his sleeves up past his elbows to avoid ruining the garment.

  
“I should be the one saying that,” Greg commented softly, walking over and leaning next to him. “I’ve never had this much fun baking before.”

 

“We should take it over to Baker Street.”

 

“You don’t want to keep it?” Greg asked, tilting his head to the side.  Mycroft hesitated, before shaking his head.

 

“No, I believe that would be unwise,” he commented. Greg’s eyes softened.

 

“Stop that train of thought, love,” he said gently, knowing the insecurities going through his partner’s mind. “Come on now, it’s your first cake.  We deserve to enjoy it.”

 

Finally, Mycroft nodded, conceding to the point. Greg beamed brightly. Maybe they’d share _some_ of it with John and Sherlock, but not the whole thing. Finally, the timer went off and they pulled out the cake to cool, and then the icing once it was. Greg scooped up a bit on his finger and licked it off, humming in appreciation at the taste.

 

“Mmm, perfect,” he praised, before using a different finger to scoop up some more. “Here, try.”

 

Mycroft glanced at it for a moment before tilting his head down and sucking the icing off slowly.  Greg couldn’t stop the shiver that went through him. That tongue should be illegal. Licking his lips, he ran the finger along Mycroft’s bottom lip, earning a shiver from the younger man, before smirking.

 

“Let’s get this iced,” he said, cupping Mycroft’s chin and pulling him in for a kiss. “Before we get real off track.”


	248. Creating Music

Mycroft’s eyes were closed, focusing on absolutely nothing except the task he was immersing himself in.  His slender fingers flew across the cool ivory, playing music from memory without the aid of sheet music.  The notes were spot on, and he didn’t have to concentrate, and that was the _point_.

 

Ever since he was a young boy, he’d loved piano. It had been a trade he’d thrust into with all of his might, much as Sherlock later did with his violin, and he excelled at it.  He was composing his own music by the time he was twelve.  He didn’t have much time for composing anymore.  Not much, anyway.  His work overrode his passion, and sometimes he went weeks without touching his beloved piano. Even tonight, the thin layer of dust he had to brush off it was a disheartening thing.  Now, once he’d turned off his mobile and forced himself down on the bench, he never wanted to pull away again.

 

Politics were exhausting, Sherlock was exhausting, and Mycroft was at the end of his rope.  This is why he played.  He played hard and precise, the music circling around in a whirlwind. He slipped from one piece of the next with flawless ease, like they were always meant to be played together, even when they were composed centuries apart from one another.

 

When he’d had quite enough of that, he moved on to his own pieces.  He played through two full movements he had created in his late twenties, his thoughts and emotions coming back after all this time and making complete sense over why he’d chosen that note and that speed.  With a sigh, he stared down at his hands with a frown, pausing in everything and listening to the sounds bouncing off his walls.

 

Without music, he was nothing. Honestly.  They would never admit it, but he and Sherlock were once again very similar in that aspect.  Mycroft didn’t allow himself to express all of his emotions in the normal way, so he did it through his piano.  Music was his catalyst and his vessel.  Music was his everything.

 

And then there was Gregory.

 

As always, the older man had a way of popping into his head at the most random of times.  He was falling in love, and he didn’t know how to handle it. He had convinced himself it would never happen, and yet… There was no denying it was happening. He was caught in the frustration of knowing exactly what needed to be done and yet being horribly inexperienced with it all.  He was trapped in not being able to form the words because once he did there was no turning back and it never ended well.  How would this be any different?

 

He was different, though.  He was.  Mycroft had never… He’d never felt anything like this before.  So it was with a heavy sigh that he fluttered his fingertips along the ivory again, tracing every corner of the keys, thinking. Then, finally, he set his thinking aside and did something he hadn’t let himself do in fifteen years.

 

He started composing.

 

When he composed, hours went by in the blink of an eye. Mycroft was oblivious to everything around him, and he poured himself into his creation.  This one was intense, shifting from slow and sorrowful, to fierce and angry, to quick and heated, and then timid.  The wave of emotions that could be heard in the music corresponded with the wave of emotions flooding through his heart.

 

It wasn’t until some time later, as Mycroft stilled and his brain became quiet, that he realized he wasn’t alone. His shoulders stiffed at the shifting of movement behind him, and his mind and heart were racing. Swallowing, he took a deep breath and risked glancing over his shoulder, where Gregory was standing and staring at him in awe.

 

“Sorry, I…” the man started, clearly shocked and breathless. “Your mobile wasn’t on, and I was a bit… Well, I was worried, so… Wow. I, uh, I didn’t know you played.”

 

Mycroft had to force the tension out of his shoulders as he nodded.  How long had the man been there?  There was so much running through his mind and he didn’t know where to start.

 

“Yes,” he decided to confirm. “Ever since I was small.”

 

“That piece… it was…”

 

“Just something that came to me,” he muttered with a shrug.  Gregory’s eyes widened.

 

“You _wrote_ that?” he asked, taking a step forward as he stared.  Mycroft pressed his lips in a line and glanced back at the keys, nodding again.

 

“Yes…”

 

“The emotion behind it,” Gregory said, and then he was sitting next to him on the bench.  When had he gotten so close? “Where’d that all come from then?”

 

Mycroft calculated exactly six answers he could give and what could result from it.  He could refuse to answer at all, and thought about how that one would go. Each conversation precisely planned out, to the end, when his mouth decided to speak first.

 

“I was thinking of you,” he admitted, and his shoulders tensed again.  He risked a look up after a moment, but Gregory’s expression wasn’t clear. He couldn’t figure it out. Then, unexpectedly, the older man was reaching in and cupping his cheek gently.

 

“I love you too, you daft idiot,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss Mycroft intensely.  He could feel himself melting into Gregory, and his breath getting taken away. It was a risky assumption, but the man was a Detective Inspector and very intuitive.  Besides, he was entirely correct, and Mycroft allowed himself to clutch at the man’s clothes and let the music and his lips say what he couldn’t.


	249. Too Many People

There were times when Mycroft was in desperate need of seclusion of everything.  There were times when the rest of the human race became just too much to bear, and another moment in their presence would drive the man mental. Everyone was so dimwitted, so slow to grasp the easiest of concepts, and so ignorant of the world around them. Mycroft was skilled at separating each of these encounters and making them feel much smaller than they were, but even after a while they could get to him.

 

He became in increasing awful moods when this started to happen.  It became even worse when he _couldn’t_ get away as immediately as he desired to.  He became snappy at every little thing, and was unable to keep his withering looks from being directed at whomever was speaking with him at the time.  He became frustrated.  For lack of a better comparison, he became Sherlock.

 

Overall, his little brother’s behavior was irritating and sometimes downright appalling.  However, as he slipped into these kinds of mood, it made desperate sense. He had long ago been able to compartmentalize things a lot easier than Sherlock could even to do this, but being overwhelmed made that skill practically obsolete.  Unfortunately, this made him unable to tolerate practically everything, including his partner.

 

He wasn’t mad at Gregory.  He wasn’t even really that irritated with Gregory. But right as he was finally getting a moment’s peace, his dear Detective Inspector had come home from what seemed to be a pretty awful day of his own, and he wanted to talk about it. Mycroft always welcomed those kinds of conversations.  It helped Gregory to get it out in a stream of frustration and words, and then they made tea and sat together and his spirits were lifted.  Mycroft found he was unable to be so accommodating this time.

 

“Mycroft?” Gregory asked hesitantly, tilting his head to the side as Mycroft stared a hole into the chair across from where they were on the sofa.

 

“It’s nothing,” Mycroft snapped, not realizing how harsh his words had come across until seeing Gregory’s barely noticeable flinch at the power behind them.  Lovely, his sour mood was affecting the one relationship he cared desperately about.

 

“Apologies, I find I just really need to be alone right now,” he said hurriedly, standing and smoothing down his waistcoat. “If you get hungry do not wait for me for dinner.”

 

Without another word, he strode out of the sitting room and made a beeline towards his office without looking back. He found he really didn’t want to see the look on Gregory’s face.  He shut his office door behind him and strode to sit down behind the desk, pressing his fingers against his temples with an irritated sigh. He doubted he would be sleeping tonight. He would most likely stay in here until dawn, and then take a quick shower and change into fresh clothes before heading to an early meeting with British diplomats.

 

Steepling his fingers and resting them under his chin, Mycroft leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He breathed deeply, focusing on clearing his thoughts the best he could.  There was so much noise, so much overwhelming irritation and jumbling, and it had to go. He sunk deep into his mind, sorting and compartmentalizing what he could, getting rid of others, and slowly the tension started to seep out of his shoulders.

 

He didn’t know how long he was sitting there, but when strong hands settled on his shoulders, he couldn’t keep himself from almost jumping out of his skin.  There was a gentle squeeze, and his partner was rubbing his shoulders slowly. Mycroft sighed, eyes fluttering closed again and sinking into the touch.

 

“Does that help?” Gregory asked, voice barely above a whisper and full of concern.  Mycroft breathed out through his nose and nodded a fraction.

 

“It does,” he confirmed, unable to keep from smiling just slightly. “Apologies for…”

 

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Gregory said, and he just knew the older man was shaking his head. “You needed to get into yourself. Sort out that brilliant mind of yours. You can’t do that when you’ve got me invading your space and blabbing away about stupid stuff. I’m just sorry I didn’t notice it sooner, love.”

 

Finally, turning, Mycroft stared up at Gregory. He was an enigma. How on earth did a man like him truly exist?  Mycroft felt sheer wonder at how lucky he had become to find him, and somehow keep him.

 

“How did I get you?” he asked in a hushed, surprised tone. “How is it that you just _know_?”

 

“I just do,” Gregory smiled, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “I know the look you get in your eyes. You’ve dealt with too many people in too short a time frame.”

 

“You are a marvel, Gregory Lestrade.”

 

“Yeah I know,” Gregory winked, smirking playfully. Mycroft managed a smile of his own, chuckling at the adorable man he had no right to be with, but would never think about letting go of.


	250. His Life Was Complete

After his divorce, Greg’s life seemed to just go downhill.  It was… colorless. That kind of term made no sense, really, yet was the most appropriate thing.  He had been miserable during the divorce, and even before with the multitude of times his ex-wife had cheated on him.  Greg realized he hadn’t been home a lot, and that they definitely had their issues, but all of that had really gutted him desperately.

 

He buried himself in work after that. He was rarely home, and when he was, there was a beer in his hand.  More often than not, he would pass out on the sofa, where he would only get a few hours sleep before he was dragging himself into a super hot shower and downing cup after cup of coffee over paperwork or a dead body.

 

His life was miserable.  His coworkers were concerned.  Greg should have been concerned too, but he honestly hadn’t had the energy to.  The only saving grace he ended up ever having was when John Watson went to be pub with him. He and John had always got on well, and it was nice to have a friend.

 

Sherlock had slowly started to put in hints of an interested party after a while.  Hints that John seemed to back up on frequently.  Greg had been terribly suspicious at that, and it took a while, but after a few pints he was finally able to goad it out of John.

 

To hear Mycroft bloody Holmes was becoming infatuated made Greg wonder if his pint had been drugged.  He stared down at for a moment, blinking rapidly, while John burst out in amused laughter.  But he was serious.  It was apparently appalling and annoying for Sherlock that his big brother was pining and he just wanted it over and done with.

 

This was how Greg pulled up the courage to ask the posh man out on a date.  It quickly turned out to be the best decision he’d ever made.

 

Day by day, light began to come back into Greg’s life. He got excited to shower and dress in the morning, not just obligated, and his stomach fluttered every time he received a new text on his mobile.  It made him realize just how depressed and numb he’d been for the past nine months. It was no wonder people had been worried about him.

 

Greg had a reason to smile again. He had a reason to laugh happily, and laugh he did.  He still worked long hours and it was still rough, but his partner worked long hours too and knew the importance of what he did.  It made their time together even more special and they made the most of it every time.

 

It didn’t take long for Greg to know deep in his bones that he wanted to be with Mycroft forever.  His life was complete now in a way it had never been before. He had thought it was the case when he got married.  He thought he was in love, and at the time, yeah, he was.  But looking back on it, there was still something missing that he found with Mycroft. That’s how he knew that he was the one. He wanted them to live together forever, and retire somewhere secluded when they became old (even though they’d probably both have to be dragged away because they were rather stubborn when it came to their professions).  They weren’t perfect, not by any means, but they fit together and worked so well together.  That’s what mattered.

 

“Gregory?” came the very man’s voice, pulling him from his thoughts.  They were stretched out on the couch and had put a movie on, but Greg had seen it many times and obviously had spaced out.  He blinked.

 

“Yeah?” he asked. “Sorry, I was somewhere else.”

 

“Obviously,” Mycroft smiled.  He reached out and cupped Greg’s cheek, who hummed and closed his eyes. “What was so fascinating that captured your mind so fully?”

 

Greg opened his eyes again and gazed into pale blue. His heart pounded in that twitterpated way Greg always felt when it came to Mycroft.  He was going to marry that man.  There was no doubt.  He turned his head to press a soft kiss into Mycroft’s palm.

 

“You,” he admitted honestly, leaning closer and nuzzling into the taller man’s chest.  Slender arms wrapped around him and he sighed, letting his eyes close again. No matter what type of building they were in, when they were like this, Greg was home.


	251. A Bad Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one centers around depression. Just a heads up, for a TW, in case.

There were good days and bad days. The good days were a lot more rare than the bad ones.  The bad days were dark, immensely dark, and frankly, scary.  But… there he was.  Greg had dealt with a lot over the past few months of his life.  His entire world got uprooted and jumbled. He had a feeling he was in danger of a demotion if he couldn’t get himself straight.  He just… couldn’t.

 

Sally tried to tell him to cheer up. When they weren’t in the middle of a case, she tried to lift his spirits or try to get him to talk. The problem was that he didn’t know where to start.  His mind was a jumbled mess, and depression was a slippery slope.  She suggested on more than one occasion that he find someone to talk to. That just made him angry every time. Deep down, he knew it wasn’t such a bad idea, but he couldn’t bring himself to go see someone. He didn’t have the energy.

 

The only light was Mycroft.  He was really the only good thing that had happened to Greg, and he would never understand how.  He was a broken cop, mentally and physically.  He wasn’t at his peak anymore, and it had to be exhausting to deal with. Yet Mycroft stayed, and he smiled, and he made Greg feel loved even when he couldn’t love himself.

 

Even still, the bad days could get so bad it felt like he was suffocating.  He felt weird, off, a stranger in his own skin.  Some days it was strange and numbing.  He had come to prefer those days, because at least then he could function halfway normally.  Those were the days that he could put on a smile and get through the day without worried looks or questions or hovering.  He wished there were more of those days.

 

Today was not one of those days. Today was bad. Today was a throw-your-mobile-across-the-room-because-it-didn’t-load-quickly-enough kind of day.  He was amazed it didn’t break when he forced himself to go get it ten minutes later. Today was so hard not to just bury his face in his hands and cry in the middle of New Scotland Yard. His chest was tight and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t _function_.

 

He called his day in early, without any explanation to the PC working the main desk.  He texted Sally saying he needed to get some rest, and she told him to do just that, and to try and smile.  He knew she had best intentions, but things like that really did the opposite of helping. If anything, it made Greg feel even more awful because he just couldn’t.  No matter how hard he might want to try sometimes.

 

He fought back tears the whole way home. Driving and crying was not the best combination, and he’d already gotten close to being in a wreck once because of it, so… yeah.  He took deep, shaking breaths, clutching his steering wheel for dear life, until finally he made it home and all but burst into his flat.

 

He made a beeline for the bedroom, clamping a hand over his mouth as he realized that the flat was not as empty as he’d expected it to be.  How Mycroft was already home when it wasn’t even four in the afternoon he’d never know. But Greg needed to collapse on the bed, because his emotions were boiling up dangerously and he just couldn’t handle the pain anymore.

 

He was seconds away from giving in and falling into the complete breakdown that was pressing against every side of him when he heard footsteps showing that he was no longer alone.  His gut dropped.  He rubbed at his silently leaking eyes and sighed shakily, biting his lip.

 

“Gregory?” Mycroft asked, his voice soft and gentle. Greg shook his head.

 

“I just…” he tried to say, breaking off into a sob. His voice sounded rough and foreign, and as strained as he felt.  There was no verbal response.  Instead, Greg felt the bed dip behind him and suddenly there was familiar warmth pressed up against him, and slender arms wrapping around his shaking frame.

 

Sniffing, Greg turned and buried his face into Mycroft’s chest.  He clutched at his silk waistcoat, shattering in his arms.  He could feel Mycroft stroking his hair and rubbing his back, but the younger man said nothing.  He rarely did. It was like a breath of fresh air Greg grasped desperately.

 

“Would you like to talk about it?” he asked finally as Greg fell silent, still shaking and sniffing but not as much. He shook his head.

 

“I don’t…” he started with a frown, coughing.

 

“It’s all right,” Mycroft said before he could finish, pressing a kiss into his hair. “I am here with you.”


	252. A Few Words

Greg took a deep, shaky breath as he made his way up to the podium, papers clutched so tightly in his hands that it would be a wonder if he could read what he wrote.  He was not prepared for this.  You could never be prepared for this.  No amount of training, reading, or false scenarios ever prepared you for this.

 

Trying not to tremble, Greg situated himself behind the wooden podium and turned, facing the congregation he was just sitting in himself moments ago.  He took a deep, shaky breath, gazing out at the sorrowful faces of friends, family, coworkers, and strangers.  He wasn’t ready for this.

 

“Ethan was…” he started, his voice breaking against his own mental protest.  Clearing his throat, he shut his eyes for the briefest of seconds before trying again. “Ethan was more than a colleague.  He was an excellent copper, an even more brilliant Sergeant, and well on his way to Superintendent if none of us were careful.”

 

This comment earned a few slight chuckles from other members of New Scotland Yard, and Greg managed the slightest of smiles himself at some of the more fond memories a comment brought with it. He glanced down at his paper, eyes scanning his hastily scribbled notes.  He was not prepared for this.  He swallowed, but it did next to nothing to clear the lump in his throat.

 

“Ethan was more than just a colleague to me as well, personally,” he continued, eyes flicking down to his paper every little bit to avoid constantly staring at people. “He was a mate. One of my first in the division, because as we all know, he was so personable and could make almost anyone smile within five minutes tops.  It’s a testament to that just by seeing all of you here.  He affected so many lives, and he’s still affecting them even now.”

 

He had to blink rapidly, fighting back the heat building behind his eyes.  He told himself before all of this that he would not cry at the funeral. He was determined not to cry here. He had to be strong.

 

His speech went on a bit more, talking about some fun things with Ethan, appreciating everything the man did for him when he was going through rough patches of his own life, all of that. He liked that he could bring a bit of a spark to all these people, because everyone was so sad and it was… awful. But it was natural. It would’ve been sad no matter what with Ethan’s death, but there was something about the man dying on the job that made it even worse.  Taken way before his time.  Terrifying to other officers. This made it real. Made it tangible. Made it possible to happen to any one of them if they weren’t careful.

 

But Ethan would have wanted people smiling, even if only a little bit.  So Greg focused on that.  He wasn’t extremely successful, and he couldn’t help but think a part of it had to do with the fact that he was on the verge of tears the entire time he gave his eulogy, but finally it was over and he was walking over to his seat, feeling lead weights dragging along behind him.

 

As he glanced down the aisle, approaching his seat, his eyes locked on a figure standing in the back corner.  His steps stuttered and he almost froze, barely able to tear his eyes away as his heart leapt up in his throat.  His eyes locked with pale ones, and he watched as Mycroft Holmes gave him a soft nod and the slightest of smiles, shifting the grip on his umbrella a fraction.  Greg nodded back, licking his lips and turning to sit.

 

When the funeral was over, everyone made their way outside to where the burial was to take place.  A few more words were said, and some men in uniform did a proper send-off for him, which Greg couldn’t bring himself to watch. He’d been asked if he wanted to lead this part.  He had turned it down instantly.  He could hardly keep himself together saying a eulogy, there was no way he could have done all this.

 

People slowly began to scatter afterward. Greg walked over to Ethan’s wife, Amanda, and hugged her tightly.  She wasn’t crying, but Greg thought it was only because she didn’t have any more tears today to do so.

 

“Listen to me,” he whispered, gripping her shoulders affectionately and biting his lip as it quivered a bit. “You have my mobile.  _Please_ use it.  If you or little Sam need me, don’t hesitate.  You can come over whenever, or we can go out… anything, love.”

 

“I know Greg,” she nodded, glancing over at where her daughter, Sam, was sitting with who Greg thought he remembered to be her grandmother.  The poor girl. He couldn’t even imagine how this was for her too. “Thank you.  You’ve always been an amazing friend to this family, and I’ll never forget it.”

 

Smiling as much as he could with tears sliding down his cheeks, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Amanda’s cheek. She hugged him again and lightly wiped away his tears, patting his cheek before having to see someone else.

 

There was a black car waiting for him as he walked off the lot, and he couldn’t have been more relieved.  The moment the door was shut and he was sitting, a slender hand was resting on his knee.  Greg turned, looked at Mycroft for a few seconds, before leaping across the car and crying into his chest.  He was sad, he was scared, and he was immensely overwhelming.  Mycroft said nothing, content to hold him close the entire ride home. And it was exactly what Greg had needed, for in that moment, he had no strength left.


	253. Stop Being A Workaholic

“Gregory, darling, don’t look at me like that,” Mycroft sighed, but he was unable to keep the smile off his face or the chuckle out of his voice.  Shaking his head, Greg stepped close and tugged on the sleeve of the younger man’s jacket, pressing close and wrapping his arms around him securely.

 

“You’re not going,” he said, huffing through his nose slightly and frowning.

 

“I have to,” Mycroft said, glancing over his shoulder so he could gaze pointedly at his partner.  He didn’t want to, not really, but his presence was required in his office for at least a few hours.  As much as he would like to change back into pajamas (even though he’d hardly had them on for more than a few hours), and lounge around the flat with his beloved all day, he could not.  Duty calls, was that not the saying?

 

“You _just_ got home, though,” Greg huffed, finally pulling away and crossing his arms. “You’ve been gone for almost two months, Myc.  Two bloody months.  You’ve hardly been home for six hours and now you’re off again.”

 

Mycroft sighed, shoulders slumping as he gazed at the man standing next to him.  He’d missed him desperately, and it didn’t make this any easier. The nature of his work was so time sensitive, however, and it just… it couldn’t be set aside.  Sometimes he wished he wasn’t as important as he was so he could afford to just say all right and skip the day completely so he could stay home.

 

“I know, and I deeply apologize,” Mycroft said, cupping Greg’s cheek and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I have missed you tremendously, but with as long as I’ve been away, there are pressing matters that cannot be ignored for a moment longer.  I am required.”

 

“They could wait another 24 hours,” Greg mumbled, staring down at the ground.  Mycroft closed his eyes again and sighed.  He was disappointing his partner.  It was obvious.

 

“You know the nature of my work, Gregory,” he said gently, not wanting to come across as offensive, but it was true. He’d known since before they ever entered a romantic relationship.

 

“Yeah, I know, but…” Greg started, and then he shook his head. “No.  You’re not going in today.  I can tell you don’t want to and you clearly know I don’t want you to, so I’m calling Anthea and settling this matter.”

 

Mycroft started to protest, but Greg was already turning to stand between him and the door, pulling his mobile out of his pocket. He leaned against the door defiantly, eyes shining with the dare for Mycroft to try and get past him.

 

“Hey, Anthea, it’s Greg,” he said after a moment. “Yeah, listen, I have a politician standing in front of me that’s being rather difficult.  Hmm? Oh yes, he’s always like this. Oh yeah, major workaholic. Yup.  Okay, so here’s the plan.  This politician is not going into his office today.  He’s staying home so his sexy partner who has missed him more than he could ever say can shag his brains out, have a cuddle, and then perhaps dinner and some more shagging.  Do you think you could pencil that into his schedule?  You can?  Oh, great, love. See, I don’t know what I’d do without you. Yes, I will return him in one piece. Mostly.  Ta very much.”

 

Hanging up, Greg stuck the mobile back in his pocket and smirked.

 

“See, all taken care of,” he beamed, pushing off the door and walking up to Mycroft.  Reaching up, he tugged on his jacket and pulled it off. “Anthea’s got it covered, love. Please stay home with me.”

 

Mycroft sighed, but he was smirking and shaking his head.  With a more affectionate sigh, he cupped Greg’s cheek again and gazed down into his eyes.

 

“You are a wonder, Gregory Lestrade.”

 

“There’s nothing I can’t do when I’m desperate,” he whispered, pushing up on his toes to press a slow kiss to Mycroft’s lips.

 

“I recall there being a mention of brains being _shagged_ out? Your words, not mine.”

 

“Oh yes, and I do believe it’s that time.”


	254. Stupid Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Ladycizzle!! ^.^

Greg should have known going to this party was going to be a bad idea.  He had a feeling that somehow, someone would end up aggravated and demanding to call an end to it early. He hadn’t expected it to want to be him. He had honestly thought Sherlock would’ve jumped at the chance close to immediately, when he knew he might be able to get away with it.

 

So, while it had been more of his and John’s idea to attend the party that was being thrown at New Scotland Yard (practically dragging along their other halves), he was the one standing in the corner with his arms crossed, trying desperately to keep the frown off his face. Mycroft was over near a table and he was bloody well surrounded by women.  He knew a few of them, but others were definitely just partners or friends or dates of some of the people on the force that were at the party.

 

“Oh Lestrade, it seems you’re irritated about something,” he heard Sherlock say, and almost jumped out of his skin. He hadn’t realized the detective was right next to him.  He breathed through his nose and shook his head, clenching his teeth as he saw the knowing smirk on his face.

 

“Shut it,” he said softly, desperately not wanting Sherlock to try and goad him into something.

 

“What, you don’t like those women becoming so _familiar_ with my brother?” Sherlock smirked. “That one wants to go home with him, you know. The brunette.  Look at the way she presses against his arm? Hmmm, does he even realize what’s happening?”

 

“Sherlock,” Greg snarled, flexing a hand annoyingly.

 

“Interesting, Lestrade.  Are you really so insecure?  Hmmm.  Very interesting, indeed.”

 

Desperately not giving into the urge to throttle Sherlock in frustration, Greg turned and set his drink down. He took a final moment to give the younger Holmes a glare, who just smirked again in response, before turning and weaving through the crowd.  It almost made it worse that the girls had no idea he had approached; they were that enthralled with him.  Mycroft was staring, clearly a bit baffled and annoyed by the attention he was receiving. That made it better, kind of. He still couldn’t push down the jealousy churning down in his gut.

 

“Pardon me,” he said in as even a voice as possible, but he knew Mycroft could instantly tell everything he was feeling with the way the younger man’s head whipped towards him and those pale eyes scanned over his form with raised eyebrows.  The women, unsurprisingly, didn’t seem to respond.  One even went to far as to try and get Mycroft’s attention again.

 

“ _Pardon. Me._ ”

 

A few of them turned their heads finally, and two whispered to each other before walking away.  This was Greg’s opening to slide in and gently take hold of Mycroft’s wrist. The brunette Sherlock had mentioned was looking at him now, seemingly very offended to have come over and interrupt her conversation.

 

“Gregory,” Mycroft started, but as the woman was trying to press close again, Greg tugged his partner away and to him for a long kiss.  Mycroft went stiff in his arms for a second, before returning the kiss, and it was over in mere seconds. Then, Greg looked pointedly at the woman, who was so shocked it was almost comical.  With a disappointed huff, she glanced at their hands (which were now threaded together), before finally walking away.

 

“What was that?” Mycroft asked softly, blinking again.

 

“Sorry,” Greg sighed, running a hand through his hair and glancing at the floor. “I just… God, I got so jealous seeing them fluttering around you like birds waiting for a worm.”

 

“Darling…” Mycroft said, shaking his head and cupping his cheek.  Their eyes met again. “You do realize you saved me from an excruciating thing masked as conversation, yes?”

 

“Yes, but that doesn’t matter,” Greg shrugged, leaning into the touch. “Got possessive.”

 

“I like when you get possessive,” Mycroft commented, his voice almost a purr.  Greg started to grin.

 

“My office is right upstairs…” he started, trailing off and glancing up at the ceiling as if to get his point across even more.

 

“I do believe that is the best proposition I’ve heard all evening,” Mycroft said, and they practically pushed each other towards the elevator at the end of the hall.  Greg still had pent-up energy from the jealousy that had surged through him, and he wanted to put it to very good fucking use.


	255. The Short Leave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teen AU

Greg sighed, stretching his legs out and crossing his ankles as he gazed out at the ocean right next to them. They were on a short leave from school, and when Mycroft had hesitantly mentioned his family’s vacation home, he’d leapt at the invitation without a moment’s thought.  He didn’t care where it was, or what was around it, but going away with his boyfriend?  Yes please.

 

Now that they were here, he never wanted to leave. This place was… _god_.  It was amazing. It was so calm and while it was close to town, it was away from everything.  He was surprised that Mycroft had wanted to bring him here, with the two of them only been dating for a few months now, but it was also exactly what they had needed. Being stuck in school, especially with how different the atmosphere was and the kinds of students they had to deal with at times, they’d not had the chance to really flourish together. Coming here had done that.

 

“Gregory?” came the younger teen’s voice after a moment, and he opened his eyes to turn and look at him.  He smiled brightly.

 

“Yeah, love?” he asked, shifting and sitting up a bit. He motioned for his boyfriend to come and sit next to him.  When the invitation was accepted, he snaked an arm around Mycroft, pressing close and nuzzling his shoulder.

 

“We need to start getting packed before too long,” Mycroft continued.  Greg nodded. He hadn’t wanted to think about the fact that this was their last night before having to get back to school. He wasn’t quite ready to leave this place.

 

“I know,” Greg sighed, leaning back against the chair again and closing his eyes.  He listened to the waves crashing and letting it all sink into him. He felt the shift next to him, and then Mycroft was lying with him on the chair, draping an arm around his waist and resting his cheek on his chest.  Greg sighed, wrapping his arm around the boy’s slender shoulders and hugging him.

 

“I want to thank you for coming out here with me,” Mycroft said, his fingers running back and fourth across the waistband of Greg’s trousers.  The older teen opened his eyes again and glanced at him.

 

“Of course I did,” he said, pressing his nose into ginger hair. “It makes me happy you asked me.”

 

He was still in shock over how this amazing, smart, posh boy had taken to him.  Greg was a punky, rougher kid who got okay marks, but nothing amazing.  He was proud of who he was, mind, and he was comfortable with it all, but… He never thought there would be anything about him that Mycroft would find interesting, let alone more.  Yet here they were.

 

“I’m not ready to go back,” he admitted with a sigh, turning so he could curl into Mycroft’s body more. “This place is just so perfect.”

 

“While we are alone, it is,” Mycroft commented, pressing closer as well. “With the rest of my family here, it would be an entirely different story.”

 

“Oh I’m sure they’re all amazing,” Greg chuckled, biting his lip and bursting out into a second set of giggles the second Mycroft arched his eyebrow and gave him a very exasperated look.  It was adorable.

 

“I do not wish us to go back either, however,” Mycroft commented once the giggling had died down.  He reached up and stroked Greg’s dark hair, which for once wasn’t styled or spiked up any. “Back to that hovel that calls itself an educational institution.  It suffocates us.”

 

Greg’s eyes softened and he cupped the other teen’s cheek, pulling him close for a slow kiss.  He tugged on Mycroft’s lip gently as he moved to pull away, but his partner chased his lips to pull back in for a deeper kiss.  Greg made a soft noise in the back of his throat, rolling to move onto his back more and pulling Mycroft with him.

 

“What’s the plan for our last night?” he asked against Mycroft’s lips after a second.  He felt the boy start to smirk.

 

“I had a nice dinner in mind, and perhaps complete with some wine…”

 

“Mycroft, you naughty boy,” Greg smirked, gazing up into his pale eyes.  He watched as they flashed suggestively, and his heart jumped up into his throat. Their amused looks melted into something more intimate and precious, and Greg stroked Mycroft’s pale cheek gently.

 

“Gregory, I want us to…” he started, pausing to glance down at their bodies.  Greg could feel his heart pounding.  He had a feeling he knew where this was going, but he said nothing, and continued stroking the boy’s cheek affectionately.

 

“I would like us to finally have intercourse,” Mycroft whispered.  This time, Greg froze and blinked.  His breath was whisked away.  Licking his lips, he sat up a little bit, tugging Mycroft with him.  This was a serious and important conversation.

 

“You sure?” he whispered, all attention on this exact moment.  He was answered with a gentle, if slightly nervous smile.

 

“I am,” he nodded. “I can think of no other way I would prefer our short leave to end.”

 

“Neither can I,” Greg whispered, breaking out in a slow grin and pulling him in for a loving kiss.  This really was the best short leave of his life. This was going to be a huge deal and a big step in their relationship.  Suddenly, this was a lot more important than anything else could be.


	256. Stop Scratching

It was a quiet night, and Mycroft had been able to get away from his office early enough to share a wonderful meal with his darling husband.  Now, they were relaxing on the couch, with some sort of science-fiction movie put on the telly. It was something his Gregory had been excited to find and would occasionally make comments, and while Mycroft didn’t overly care for it, he enjoyed the time they were spending.

 

His partner had fallen silent during what seemed to be one of the more intense part of the movie – backed up with a lot of action and explosions… possibly more than was strictly necessary – and Mycroft had turned to his mobile upon receiving an update from Anthea regarding a situation in South Korea.  He was in the middle of giving his response when he felt shifting next to him. Then, there was a slow, rhythmic movement afterward.  Mycroft paused and closed his eyes for a moment.

 

“Gregory, darling, you need to stop,” he commented, before focusing on finishing up his message.  There was a slight pause in the movement as his dear husband sighed, but then it started back up again.

 

“I can’t help it,” he grumbled. Finally, Mycroft set his mobile down and reached over to wrap his fingers around the wrist that was causing the movement.

 

“You will only succeed in irritating it more,” he commented, pulling the hand towards him and threading their fingers together. “If you leave it alone, it will stop.”

 

They had spent a few days in Sussex last week, and ended up spending more time outside than Mycroft had thought they would. This unfortunately led to Gregory getting bit multiple times by a variety of insects, and he now had a scattering of itchy bumps along his legs that continued to bother him even now.

 

The biggest problem was that he kept scratching them. Mycroft could tell that sometimes he wasn’t even thinking about it, but he just _was_. Naturally, this was only causing them to become more irritated, and if it kept up, would turn into small scabs that would extend his suffering even more.  Mycroft had bought what was supposed to be a highly effective cream, but it just didn’t seem to do the trick well enough.

 

“But it hasn’t stopped for days,” Gregory complained, leaning against Mycroft and shifting so that his legs rubbed together against the irritation.  Mycroft sighed, knowing exactly what he was doing.  The man would have to be strapped down before all this was over.

 

“Yes, because you won’t leave them alone,” he pointed out. “The moment you can actually go an hour without pestering any of them, the itching sensation will finally start to wane.”

 

Thankfully, Gregory seemed to stop scratching and fidgeting at that.  Mycroft released his wrist and settled his arm around his husband’s shoulders, rubbing his shoulder gently as they focused back on the movie again comfortably. Gregory had rested his head down on Mycroft’s shoulder, and the warmth and closeness made the younger man just smile.

 

Until fifteen minutes later, when Gregory started to fidget again.

 

“All right, I’m going to get gloves,” Mycroft said, pulling away from Gregory and standing.  The older man whined.

 

“Oi!!  Don’t get _gloves_!” he protested with a huff. Mycroft stilled and glanced back at him over his shoulder, arching up his eyebrow.

 

“Will you stop scratching then?” he asked skeptically. He watched Gregory’s shoulders slump as he glanced down at his lap.

 

“It just itches so much…” he sighed, wringing his hands in his lap, frowning.  Mycroft hated that his darling was suffering like this, and he wasn’t trying to be cruel in his harshness, he just wished that Gregory would try and show restraint and listen to him.  He knew it would help. His issue could be so very easily avoided if he would just stop bothering them.

 

“I have an idea,” he announced, walking back over and reaching down, gesturing for Gregory’s hand. “Come with me.”

 

Gregory nodded, taking his hand and standing. Mycroft threaded their fingers together again and led him out of the sitting room.  They headed to their bedroom and then over towards the en suite.

 

“What’s your idea?” Gregory asked, watching Mycroft move around the room.

 

“Undress,” he instructed. “We’re going to take a shower.  The heat of the water and the steam will help temporarily.  Then, with that little bit of relief, it should give you enough of a reprieve to leave them well enough alone for the evening.  And perhaps I can find a few ways to distract you…”

 

Gregory grinned, watching Mycroft as he began to undress before following suit.  Mycroft got the water running at set it at a tolerable, yet warm temperature. It would most likely help, and if he could get his husband to stop scratching for the rest of the night, there would be victory in that.

 

If they so happened to take part in some more intimate activities, well that was just a bonus.


	257. I'm Not Your Colleague

Greg was rather furious as he walked across the way and approached the entrance to Mycroft’s office building. He needed to keep calm, but he just… Well, he had a temper already, and this just kept happening even though Mycroft knew well enough how much it frustrated him.  He couldn’t take it anymore.

 

He nodded to the guard at the door; the man recognized him enough and he had his own clearance to be here now, so he never had an issue getting inside anymore.  He had in the beginning, and lord had that been a pain in the arse. Quite literally, in one of the cases where he was physically removed from the building.  Now, however, it could walk in whenever. 

 

He headed to the stairs and climbed them, going up one story to where his partner’s office was located.  He stepped inside the main door to it, entering a small waiting and conference area, where Anthea was seated behind a desk.

 

“Detective Inspector,” she greeted, eyes flicking up to him briefly. “I was not expecting you today.”

 

“Yeah, well, I need to talk to Mycroft,” he said, trying to keep from snapping.  The woman gave him a knowing eye, and Greg knew he wore his emotions on his bloody sleeve, but he couldn’t find himself caring right now.

 

“I think he’s on a conference call, let me just pop my head in for a second.”

 

Greg nodded as she stood, tapping away at her Blackberry like always as she strode across to the large oak door to the left of her desk.  Opening it, she literally did just poke her head inside, seemingly announcing his presence, and it took a moment before she straightened and turned.

 

“You’re good,” she said, tilting her head toward the door and heading back to her desk.

 

Greg took a deep breath and clenched his fists, before making himself move and head over to the cracked door. He pushed it open more so he could step inside, laying eyes on his partner seated at his large desk. His laptop was open in front of him, where he was typing something, as his office phone was cradled against his shoulder.  He was talking in another language (it sounded like Italian?), but his pale eyes flicked up to run across Greg’s body to take him in before turning his focus back to the call.

 

Greg shut the door behind him, walking forward until he could sit down in one of the leather chairs on the other side of the desk. He slumped down a bit, crossing his arms, and forcing his patience as he waited for the call to end. It seemed to take forever, but finally, Mycroft was hanging the call up.

 

“Gregory,” he greeted, finishing up some typing before looking at him again. “To what do I owe this visit?”

 

“Don’t give me that,” Greg sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “You know why I’m here. Mycroft, we’ve talked about this before. You can’t just… _take_ one of my cases right out from under me like that.”

 

“Actually, you know quite well that I can,” Mycroft responded, leaning back in his chair with a rather blank expression. “And you are aware that sometimes, for security purposes, it is required. We’ve had this conversation before.”

 

“Yeah, but you don’t even bother to show up yourself,” Greg snapped, leaning forward in his chair as heat flared in his eyes. “It pisses me off, Mycroft.  Yet again I get tossed to the side without a word or a heads up or _anything_ from you.”

 

“I am a very busy man,” Mycroft replied, voice a bit frostier than it had been. “It was necessary.”

 

Greg was unable to keep his frustration bottled up anymore.  He slammed a hand down on the edge of Mycroft’s desk and stood, huffing as he started to pace back and fourth.  He stopped, pointing at the man still sitting and watching him with almost a bored expression. Greg knew better than to think that’s what it really was, of course, but still.  It didn’t help matters.

 

“Myc… you have got to stop treating me like this,” he said loudly, trying his damnedest not to full on shout. “I am not one of your lackeys.  I do not work for you. I’m not your colleague, and this is not a business association. “

 

“I am quite aware of that Gregory, however-“

 

“No,” Greg interrupted, walking over to the side of the desk so that they were closer together and setting his hands on his hips. “Whatever argument you’re about to make is rubbish and don’t even think about it. I get that work and home life are separate, but you are still my partner.  If you **have** to take a case off me, you can damn well find the time to come do it yourself or at least explain it. Having a man in a suit come in and demand the files with no other explanation is unacceptable and it better never happen again.”

 

Silence fell between them.  Greg could see the younger man processing all that had just been said.  There was a bit of tension that eased out of his posture after a moment, and with a sigh, Mycroft nodded.

 

“Very well,” he said, folding his hands in his lap. “I see your point.”

 

Some of the anger faded at that.

 

“Good,” Greg nodded back, unable to keep himself from sighing too. “Good, thanks.”

 

“You do understand what was necessary though, correct?” Mycroft asked.  His tone was not as harsh, as he was clearly trying to be more delicate in the situation, which Greg could appreciate.  He nodded again.

 

“I do,” he admitted, leaning against the edge of the desk. “Just not like that, Mycroft.  Do you realize how insulting it is to me that you handle things that way? How offensive and shitty it is? We love each other. I’m not saying I want that to bleed into our professional lives, but I damn well deserve a bit more courtesy than that.”

 

“You do, my dear, and I apologize,” Mycroft said, standing.  He closed the distance between them and cupped Greg’s cheek. “I will try to prevent more crass measures in the future.”

 

“That’s all I ask,” Greg whispered, leaning into the touch and gazing up at him.  Mycroft leaned down, closing the distance between them and pressing their mouths together in a slow kiss.  Greg was no longer angry. He was glad, because he didn’t like being angry with Mycroft.  He loved the man.  He was just grateful that this conversation had ended a lot better than he knew it had a chance to.


	258. Shower Sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> teen AU again :3

“Gregory, you’ve gone mental,” Mycroft hissed, standing in the shower and staring at the hot stream falling in front of him. Alarms were shooting off in his head every other moment.  This had been a bad idea.  They shouldn’t go through with this.  He opened his mouth to continue protesting, when the older teen was pressing up against him from behind and wrapping his arms around his waist.

 

“Come on Myc,” he whispered into Mycroft’s ear, making the posh boy shiver and grip at his arm slightly.  Their bodies were pressed completely against each other, and Mycroft could feel Gregory’s excitement pressing against his backside. He had to force himself to not press back against it when every instinct was telling him to do just that.

 

“We’re going to get _caught_ ,” he tried to said, but his voice was a bit weaker than before. They both knew the protesting was more for show now than anything.  They both knew how this was going to end.  He could feel Gregory smirking against his skin as he pressed slow, hot kisses down the curve of his neck.  He practically whimpered, his hands trembling slightly.

 

“Everyone’s at breakfast,” Gregory muttered, licking droplets of water off Mycroft’s skin before biting down gently on the dip into his shoulder.  Mycroft yelped, jumping a bit and pressing back against him now.  It created an amazing friction that had the older teen gasping softly.

 

“I cannot believe you’ve coaxed me into sex in the dormitory showers,” Mycroft muttered, attempting a scowl but having it turn into a soft groan as Gregory rocked his hips forward teasingly.

 

“It’s the first chance we’ve gotten since we got back from Christmas leave,” Gregory pointed out for what wasn’t the first time. Mycroft was well aware of their inability to be intimate these past two weeks.  He was also well aware how torturous it had been for them both. It was perhaps why he had not been so hard to convince in this activity.  They’d never had sex in the shower before, though, and he was a little unsure quite how they would be pulling this one off (no suggestive pun intended).

 

“I know,” he gasped, letting his head fall back against Gregory’s shoulder, his lips parted as he huffed softly. He was fully erect himself now, and it was rather difficult not to just wrap a hand around himself so he could get a bit of relief.  His fingers twitched with the desire to touch himself, to touch Gregory… He whimpered.

 

Quickly, Gregory stepped back and pushed at Mycroft’s shoulder gently so that he turned and they faced each other. They were both panting softly and their cheeks were tinted with arousal and heat from the water and steam. Mycroft stepped forward, cupping his boyfriend’s cheeks as he initiated a heated kiss between them. They pressed flush against each other again, and he cried out into Gregory’s mouth as their erections lined up and rubbed against each other.

 

“Gregory,” he groaned, pressing their foreheads together.

 

“Back against the wall,” Gregory instructed, his voice rough and hoarse with want.  Mycroft did as instructed, body shivering for a second at how surprisingly cool the tile was.  Gregory followed him, starting up another kiss as he wrapped his hand around both of them, stroking gently. Mycroft’s hips began rolling forward in a similar motion, all protest gone from his mind. He just needed this, and needed the release…

 

“We don’t have anything-” he started to whisper against the other boy’s lips, groaning as Gregory’s thumb massaged his tip.

 

“There are alternatives,” Gregory smirked. “Wrap your legs around me.”

 

They hadn’t brought a condom in with them, poor planning, and while both of them knew they really didn’t need one, they were still in silent agreement to remain safe until they knew for sure. But as they both knew, there were other forms of sexual acts they could eagerly perform.

 

However, Mycroft was nervous about allowing both feet to leave the floor of the tub.  He hesitated, glancing up into Gregory’s eyes and biting his lip. He was given a gentle smile.

 

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, releasing their cocks and settling his hands on Mycroft’s waist. “Trust me, love.”

 

Mycroft nodded, and with his back still against the tile, he lifted one leg.  Gregory’s hands shifted, holding on more securely, and once one leg had settled in place, Mycroft took a deep breath and lifted the other.  They stayed amazingly steady, though Mycroft really shouldn’t be all that surprised (his boyfriend did play sports, after all).  They adjusted for a second, Gregory moving his grip where he needed to, and licking his lips.

 

“God I want to fuck you,” he growled, rolling his hips up and rubbing their erections together again.  Mycroft sucked in a breath.  He wanted it too.  Damnit, he wanted it badly.

 

“Then fuck me,” he said after a second, taking the very quick time to run the scenarios and information through his slightly hazy mind.  Gregory blinked in surprise, and Mycroft just smiled. “We know our medical records, and we don’t have a sexual history.  We’ve been safe, rightfully so, but it has been long enough, don’t you think?”

 

Silence fell as Gregory took in the words. Then, there was a slight nod. A flare of intent could be seen in the older boy’s eyes now, and it made Mycroft shudder.  Glancing to the side, he reached for the bottle of soap they’d brought in with them and popped the cap open.  Smiling, Gregory steadied himself long enough to get a decent amount poured onto his hand, where he stroked himself a few times to make sure it was coated enough.  Then, both hands were gripping Mycroft’s arse again, and he shifted. 

 

Mycroft bit his lip when he felt the tip pressed against his entrance.  Their eyes connected, and the younger boy gave the slightest of nods, and Gregory pushed in. Mycroft cried out, his back arching off the tile a bit, and he rocked his hips down eagerly. He needed more, it wasn’t enough.

 

They established a surprisingly steady rhythm for their position.  Gregory had to do most of the work, but he didn’t seem to complain about it.  The shower space was filled with the sounds of their grunts and moans, and it was positively obscene, and it was beyond thrilling. Mycroft wrapped a hand around himself finally, stroking in time with Gregory’s steady thrusts, and came with his boyfriend’s name on his lips.

 

Gregory came a few thrusts later, his forehead pressed against Mycroft’s collarbone.  Mycroft had all but wrapped himself entirely around the older boy, and they remained in that position for a moment, kissing passionately.  It was only after they’d kissed until their lungs could burst that Gregory finally pulled out and set Mycroft down. They continued to hold each other, kissing and swaying slowly under the stream, and it was the purest form of bliss Mycroft had ever known.


	259. Mystery Vacation

Greg had no idea where they were. Mycroft had been very mischievous and tight-lipped, giving sly smiles as the answer to his never-ending questions. Finally, the older man just decided to stop asking, because it was clear he would be getting no answers.

 

Regardless, he found that he was thrumming with excitement as they were on the plane.  It was private, of course, and they shared some wine and curled up on a small couch together once they were able to get up and move around after takeoff. They talked calmly, Mycroft giving some stories about recent negotiations they’d just closed off. He always loved the way Mycroft could make him just burst out in giddy laughter as he impersonated – bloody _impersonated_ – other politicians. He also loved how Mycroft’s work was becoming less and less top secret.  There was something huge to be said about that.

 

Finally, they were landing, and Greg was staring out of the window, trying to figure out where they were.  He heard Mycroft chuckle next to him, so for good measure he glanced over his shoulder with a playful glare.  However, it wasn’t until they’d gotten off that he figured out where they were.

 

“Canada?” he asked as he adjusted the bag over his shoulder, arching his eyebrow in surprise. 

 

“Yes, Gregory,” Mycroft nodded with a smile. “We are in Canada.”

 

“What’s in Canada?”

 

Mycroft chuckled again, and through his confusion, Greg felt his stomach flutter.  He loved drawing such happy, genuine laughs from the younger man. He hadn’t meant to sound offensive to the country, because he did thoroughly enjoy Canada, but he wasn’t sure what the big secret was supposed to be.  He’d been here multiple times in his life, so it wasn’t the thrill of a completely new experience, and they weren’t near Niagara Falls or anywhere touristy like that, so… What?

 

“Patience, dear,” Mycroft said, placing a hand against the small of Greg’s back and guiding him out of the airport, where (unsurprisingly) a car was waiting for them. “I guarantee you that you’ll never guess.”

 

It maybe should have been taken as a stab at his intelligence, if it hadn’t come from Mycroft.  But the posh man had never and would never insult Greg like that, he knew.  He was just being all mysterious and flashy, and it was exciting.  They settled into the backseat, thighs pressing against each other. Mycroft was placing a hand on Greg’s knee as they drove off, and Greg set his hand over it, threading their fingers together loosely.

 

“We can stay the weekend, of course,” Mycroft was saying as Greg stared out of the window. “I have a hotel suite booked for us, and Anthea is getting the appropriate amount of luggage sent over so it will be waiting for us.  We can see a few of the sights, take some time to relax, just you and me.”

 

“Sounds amazing,” Greg grinned, turning to gaze at his partner. “But would we really need more clothes if that’s what we were doing?”

 

He smirked suggestively, delighting in the slight shade of pink that emerged on Mycroft’s cheeks.  Leaning in, he pressed a kiss to the corner of the younger man’s mouth, nuzzling his cheek and squeezing his hand.  Pressing closer, he touched the side of Mycroft’s chin in order to turn his head and press their lips together in a slow kiss. They kissed until the car started to slow down and park, when finally Mycroft leaned back just enough to separate them.

 

“We’re here,” he whispered against Greg’s lips, running a hand through his silvery hair and kissing him again before shifting to unbuckle his seatbelt.  Greg did the same and they climbed out of the car.  Greg glanced around, trying to catch sight of where _here_ was, but nothing stood out.  There were a few shoppes, some small food joints, but nothing that yelled at him to come this way.  He turned and glanced up at Mycroft questioningly.

 

Motioning him to follow, Mycroft turned and began to walk down the sidewalk.  It took a few brisk steps for Greg to catch up, but he fell into step beside him, shoulder brushing Mycroft’s bicep briefly.  They walked a bit, passing store after store, until his partner was stopping and turning to stand in front of one.  Greg looked at it, glancing at the name and peering into the window curiously… and he blinked.  Wait.

 

“Is this a record shoppe?” he asked out loud, brow furrowing in confusion.

 

“Yes it is,” Mycroft nodded, sticking his hands in the pockets of his coat.

 

“You… flew me to Canada for the weekend to bring me to a record shoppe?” he asked softer, blinking, and glancing up at the man again.  He heard a silky chuckle.

 

“Once we are inside, perhaps you will understand why.”

 

Oh, and understand he did.  Greg stepped in, nodding at the greeting the clerk gave them, and absently wandered over to a section to browse.  Mycroft stayed close by, more interested in Greg than any of the records, obviously.  As he started to flip through, his brown eyes widened at some of the stuff he was coming across.

 

“This is… holy shit, this is a first printing,” he blurted out, staring at one of his favorite Clash albums. “It’s so insanely hard to find.  I’d tried buying one once but it was insanely expensive and I wouldn’t have been able to eat for months.”

 

His shock only increased as he came across more insanely rare and gorgeous things.  Extremely rare and previously unreleased songs and albums, bands he hadn’t seen circulating in any of his usual music stores back in London for almost a decade… it went on and on.  This place seemed to have absolutely _everything_. They were there for close to two hours before food forced them out.  Greg didn’t go empty-handed, though.  Between he and Mycroft, they bought a good twenty albums, and Greg couldn’t stop beaming.

 

“Worth coming across the pond for,” he commented as they walked back down the sidewalk.

 

“It was as I had hoped,” Mycroft grinned openly, wrapping an arm around Greg’s shoulders and kissing his temple. “Now, dinner?”

 

“Yes please.”


	260. Fire, Wine, and Marshmallows

If Mycroft hadn’t currently been occupied with other, more pleasant things, he would have been in a very sour mood. The day had been long and aggravating. He’d been forced to repeat himself more times than he was willing to count (and he _despised_ repeating himself), and by the end of it all he was just ready to be home. He had been able to enjoy approximately 75 minutes of being home and getting to see his darling husband, when the evening just decided he couldn’t feel relaxed, their heater went out.

 

Normally this wouldn’t be too much of an issue. Someone could always be there within the hour, for one, and it wasn’t winter.  It had, however, gotten dramatically cooler this past week, signaling that fall was more than on its way.  Their home was spacious, and with the majority of the floors not being carpeted, it took hardly any time for the house to start getting uncomfortably cold.

 

Mycroft had been on the verge of something ruthless and unforgiving when they were unable to get someone there to fix it. No one could come until morning. He was furious and had half a mind to make them all look for different employment, when Gregory took hold of his hands and pulled him close.

 

The older man made light of the situation, which was just baffling.  He smiled and tugged Mycroft into the bedroom and coaxed him into a pair of sweatpants. They didn’t fit properly – his legs were obviously a lot longer than his partner’s, and he sighed as he glanced down at his bare ankles.  Gregory just laughed gently at the sight, before tugging out fluffy wool socks to pull on too. Gregory grabbed a jumper, and Mycroft insisted on wearing one of his own nicer sweaters finally. His darling husband, while not as bad as John, did not have the greatest taste in jumpers. There was absolutely no way he would wear one.

 

“Why don’t you crack open that bottle of wine we got last week?” Gregory suggested when Mycroft had brought up making tea. He thought for a second, before humming.

 

“Yes, I believe that sounds wonderful,” he nodded with a soft smile, watching his husband heading into the sitting room. Heading over to the fridge, he pulled out the chilled wine and opened it, setting the cork aside and grabbing two glasses.

 

Now, they were stretched out on a pile of blankets, halfway through the bottle of wine, significantly warmer now with the fire roaring. Their legs were curled up in each other, ankles hooked together and feet rubbing each other gently. Gregory finished his glass and set it aside, sliding his arms around Mycroft and nuzzling his cheek.

 

“Hey, I’ve got something,” he whispered, and Mycroft blinked.

 

“Do you?” he asked, arching his eyebrows. They rose even more when the man next to him pulled out a bag of marshmallows, grinning like a child. “Honestly, Gregory?”

 

“Aww come on!  It’ll be fun!” Gregory was coaxing, using those damn brown eyes to get his way in the best way he knew how.  Mycroft glared, but it was lacking in heat.  He sighed and shook his head, but the older man was already pulling out the fluffy round things and wiggling them in his face.  Mycroft swatted at his hand, rolling his eyes and sighing again to emphasize his fake annoyance, but he unable to keep the smile off his face either.

 

After yet another glass of wine later and Mycroft wasn’t as offended by the damn sweet things Gregory had pulled out of nowhere. Reaching for one of the metal pokers Gregory had been using, he stuck it on the end and set it to the fire enough to roast it, just barely.  The other man seemed to like his lightly black around the edges, which was just too burnt in his opinion.  A light browning was more preferable, which he attained perfectly before bringing it close and blowing on it.

 

Gregory was talking about something, rubbing the bottom of his foot along Mycroft’s ankle and shin, but the younger man hadn’t been completely following.  Instead, as he leaned in, he lifted his hand and pushed the marshmallow onto Gregory’s nose.  The man’s words halted immediately, his jaw dropping as he froze.

 

Perhaps it was the wine.  Or maybe it was just how much his mood had improved. Whatever it was, the look of shock and disbelief on Gregory’s face with an absurd gooey white marshmallow right at the center had Mycroft busting out in loud laughter. He braced himself with a hand on the older man’s shoulder, and once it started to die down it only reemerged when he looked up again.

 

“What did you-“ Gregory was saying, blinking rapidly, unable to believe that had just happened.  Grinning, Mycroft reached over and pulled the mass off, before leaning in to lick off what was remaining.

 

“Mmmm, perhaps these aren’t so bad, if I can enjoy them like this,” he muttered softly, stroking Gregory’s side. He licked again, making sure the residue was gone, before leaning in to kiss.  They kissed slowly, exploring each other like they had all the time in the world, before Gregory started to giggle against his lips.

 

“You shoved marshmallow on my face,” he whispered, not pulling back, but still giggling.  Mycroft smirked, before very pointedly _not_ giggling.  That was not what he was doing, because he most certainly did not giggle. Gregory giggled. He did not.

 

They stayed on the floor, kissing and (not) giggling for a while longer, the concerns of their heater issues long gone.


	261. Themed Gathering

“Gregory, we’re going to be late to this _thing_ you insist on going to,” Mycroft called from the bedroom.  Greg shifted his weight, still in the en suite, and looking at himself in the mirror. He adjusted his waistcoat again and smoothed out wrinkles that weren’t there for what had to be the fiftieth time in the past hour.

 

He looked ridiculous.  All these fine lines and layers… They looked breathtaking on his partner.  Not so much on him. But this was a themed get-together Sally was throwing, and highly encouraged their attendance. She wanted to meet Mycroft outside of police business, since “it’s clear he’s not going anywhere” according to her. Apart of that, it was basically an excuse to get dressed up in period clothing and feel awesome for the night.

 

He’d agreed with her, but now that he was dressed up and ready to go, he was hesitant.  He looked good enough, sure, but… this kind of stuff just didn’t seem to suit him much.  With a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair and fiddled with the buttons of his waistcoat. He straightened his bowtie.

 

“Gregory,” Mycroft was calling again. Greg licked his lips. He nodded, and huffed, and turned to walk out into the bedroom.

 

Mycroft was standing near the doorway, looking stunning as ever.  His outfit was too different from his every day suit, though it _looked_ older.  Right away you could peg the outfit for a century or so old.  His dark gray trousers were slim, accented rather wonderfully with the three-quarter-length coat he had on.  It was buttoned twice around the middle, concealing the deep blue waistcoat he’d watched him put on.  He had a matching blue bowtie, and the shirt underneath was white (of course).

 

“Look at you, you gorgeous man,” Greg grinned, walking over to him and sliding his eyes up and down his form appreciatively. “Very nice.”

 

“I should say so,” Mycroft complimented, reaching up to stroke the edge of his waistcoat.  His was a golden yellow color, with very feint white and light gray designs running across it.  His bow tie was the matching shade of yellow.  He went with a white shirt as well, and he grinned as he tugged at the edge of the sleeve a bit.

 

“Nah, I’m nothing much,” Greg shrugged. He glanced around a bit, searching for the matching coat he would also be wearing.  They were quite a pair, that was sure.

 

“A waistcoat suits you, my dear,” Mycroft smirked, continuing to stroke the soft material slowly. “Perhaps I shall thank Sergeant Donovan for throwing this party after all, getting the chance to see you dressed up in such a manner.”

 

“And if you call her Sergeant Donovan tonight she might just clock you one, and I can’t always hold her back,” Greg smirked, chuckling. Mycroft huffed in amusement and reached for the older man’s coat, handing it over.

 

“I shall endeavor to keep that in mind,” he smiled. “Shall we?”

 

Linking arms, they headed through their home and towards the door.  Greg caught himself at the last minute, stopping to grab the tall top hat he’d left hanging on their coat rack.  Mycroft rolled his eyes and made a few very sarcastic remarks, but the stubborn older man remained firm. It completed the outfit. There was no way he was walking into Sally’s without it planted firmly on his head.

 

And he did, precisely twenty minutes later, chin held high.  His bout of self-consciousness back at home was long gone, though he couldn’t ignore the heavy session of snogging they’d had in the car on the way over.  That may have contributed quite a bit.  Plus, he was walking into a social gathering with friends and co-workers with his partner.  He grabbed Mycroft’s hand, threading their fingers together, and tugging him in.

 

He was proud to call Mycroft Holmes his boyfriend. His partner.  Any term you might want to consider.  It had been a while since he’d had a chance to flaunt him around, and he damn well was going to tonight.

 

Mycroft was also very polite, which Greg had expected nothing less, but it was still nice that people could see he wasn’t as cool all the time as they’d seen him in Scotland Yard.  He wasn’t warm and open, of course, but it was perfect for casual conversation and to pique people’s interest.  Greg found himself smirking more than once.

 

He did warm up to Sally, though, which maybe surprised him a bit.  The two started to get on quite well, and a joke was even made for Greg to watch out before she ended up snatching him up.  Mycroft looked exasperated at that, but Sally and Greg just laughed. Yeah, he knew _that_ would never happen.

 

There were drinks and a bit of dancing, and Greg was complimented on his outfit plenty more times than once. It was fun.  And if he made out with Mycroft over by the window, ignoring everyone who might be watching, that was just… the way it worked.


	262. Slower Now

When Greg and Mycroft first became intimate, they couldn’t get to each other quick or close enough.  For men their age, they were rather eager when it came to sex. They both had quite a bit of experience in that area too, so it wasn’t that… It was just so new and it was _them_ , and it was never enough. They took their time getting to that stage, both wanting to make sure the other was comfortable and ready, but when they did it was frantic.  It was the rawest form of need for another human being Greg had ever known.

 

Fumbling, impatient hands often slipped on the buttons of waistcoats, and while Greg loved Mycroft’s many layers, he had gotten close on more than one occasion to just ripping one of the damn waistcoats open and sending buttons flying everywhere.  They scrambled to get undressed, falling on the bed together, grapping and gasping and craving.

 

It was the most appropriate portrayal of **fucking** that Greg had ever known. It was fascinating how you could be buried deep in someone as much as was physically possible (or the other way around), and it still wouldn’t be enough.  He was addicted to Mycroft.

 

Over time, things began to slow down. They didn’t slow in the way that they stopped having sex as frequently.  Their desires for each other were as strong as ever, and in some respects, could argue that they were even stronger.  Plus, they still had times of rough desperation.  Greg _did_ have a bit of a pain kink, after all.  However, more often than not, they started to take their time.

 

When it came to sex and the actual act of it, orgasm really was the goal.  Technically. That’s what was always talked about, anyway.  More importantly, though, it was about making your partner feel amazing and loved. That’s truly what it was, wasn’t it? Making love.  It wasn’t just sex, it wasn’t just fucking, it was… so much more.

 

Greg relished in the little gasps and whimpers he could draw out of Mycroft.  He studied every inch of the younger man’s body, and catalogued every reaction. He could tell when Mycroft did the same. It had escalated far past sex; this was body worship.  Light touches and breaths along soft skin, drawing up gooseflesh and shivers from the other. And then there was the _kissing_.

 

God, they could never stop kissing. No matter where they were touching or how they were wrapped into each other, there was this magnetizing need for their lips to be on each other’s.  Greg had come to realize that one of his favorite things was when their hips were slowly rolling together, and he was moving in and out of his partner slowly… Having their foreheads pressed together, their lips hovering inches from each other.  Being able to feel hot breath ghosting along his lips was intoxicating.  He could move just a fraction whenever he wanted to connect them again, sliding his tongue against Mycroft’s lips, sucking gently on his bottom lip and tongue, drawing deep groans from the back of his throat.

 

He could kiss Mycroft for hours. He had before. There were plenty of nights where they got lost in each other, curled up in bed or on the couch, just kissing. Hands would roam, of course, and slip under clothing, but most of the time when they spent that much time kissing, it would never actually lead anywhere.  Sometimes one or both of them might even get at least half erect, but still… A few touches and pressing close would be about it. 

 

Greg found he loved those nights the most. Nights of endless kissing and soft touches, curling up on the couch and fitting into each other’s bodies flawlessly. How could he have ever been made for anyone else?  He didn’t see how it could be right anymore.  He was meant for Mycroft, and Mycroft for him, and that’s the way it had to be. He couldn’t remember how he’d tried being content in his life before this.

 

“What are you thinking about?” Mycroft asked softly, shifting closer and curling more onto his lap.  Greg smiled up at him as the posh man leaned down to brush his lips along the curve of his ear. 

 

“You,” he answered, humming and tilting his head to the side.  Mycroft moved down his neck, against his collarbone, and up to his jaw.

 

“Is that so?” Mycroft grinned, nuzzling the corner of Greg’s mouth.  He turned to press a kiss to that lovely nose.

 

“Very much so,” he nodded, lifting up some and tilting his head so their lips would connect.  He very much wanted to kiss Mycroft for the rest of the night now, whispering against those lips and licking softly. “Let me show you.”


	263. The Process Is Necessary

Mycroft never found himself _wanting_ this much before.  It was terribly distracting.  He knew sexual desire, of course.  He was a functioning, human male, but unlike most human males, he had the ability to compartmentalize these things and not think about them constantly.

 

Until Gregory Lestrade came along, of course.

 

They engaged in intimate acts rather frequently, and it was absolutely wonderful.  He had a new appreciation for that more carnal part of his humanity, and it allowed him to happily indulge in it much more.  It didn’t hurt that the man he happily called his partner was irresistibly attractive and knew all the right buttons to touch and push to make Mycroft’s toes curl in his shoes.

 

What had started as simple, slow kissing in the back of the car after dinner had begun to escalate when they were about halfway home. It wasn’t a shocking occurrence, of course.  The things Gregory could do with his tongue… It made Mycroft shiver.  Before long they were tugging each other close and on the verge of doing things that were extremely inappropriate in the presence of his driver; privacy screen or not.

 

They were both starting to show some physical evidence of their desire by the time the car stopped.  Mycroft offered a soft apology and his thanks to the driver, who just shook his head with an amused smile as the two of them all but fell out of the car and up to the door.  Gregory had grabbed his wrist and was tugging on him gently, drawing out a huff of a laugh as Mycroft bumped into him before they made it inside. Turning, Gregory pushed him against the door and began kissing him with much more intent than before, drawing a soft moan from him as they pressed against each other a bit roughly.

 

“Bed, Gregory,” he gasped against the older man’s lips, nipping gently before pushing on his partner gently towards the stairs. He watched as Gregory was already starting to pull off the jacket he’d worn to dinner, which made Mycroft smirk in amusement. They were just inside their bedroom when that article of clothing was tossed to the side.  It’s something that would drive Mycroft crazy if it wasn’t for the fact that his mind was definitely elsewhere, and he knew Gregory would pick it up before they went to sleep that night.

 

They strode towards each other again, Mycroft’s hands in Gregory’s hair as they started kissing again.  They took a few steps back so that the back of Gregory’s legs were hitting their bed, and Mycroft gripped at those soft, silver curls to draw a delicious gasp from him.

 

“Let’s get this suit off you,” Gregory whispered breathlessly. 

 

Mycroft tugged at his bottom lip before stepping back and slipping off his jacket.  He turned and grabbed its hanger, sliding it on and setting it on the back of their door.  Slender fingers fumbling a bit more than normal, he started unbuttoning his waistcoat and taking a moment to fold it properly and set it down before continuing. He did this with his shirt as well, before moving to his trousers and pulling off his socks.

 

Gregory was down to his pants well before Mycroft, and just stood, watching.  As he was going to walk his trousers over and fold them, he heard a frustrated groan. Smirking, he raised an eyebrow as he glanced over his shoulder.

 

“Something wrong?” he asked, setting the garment down and heading over towards the bed.

 

“I love your process, Myc, but fucking hell it felt ten times slower just now,” he sighed, grabbing at Mycroft and pulling him close.

 

“It is just your heightened emotions due to- _ooohhh Gregory_ ,” he gasped, stuttering out of thought as the older man reached between them to cup Mycroft’s erection and palm it gently.

 

“To?” he prompted, rubbing and squeezing, causing Mycroft to bite his lip.  His hips shifted a bit, seeking more friction.

 

“Due t-to your arousal,” he managed to say, voice trembling.

 

“Let me show you what else my arousal is causing,” Gregory growled, turning and pushing Mycroft down to the bed. He propped himself up on his elbows as Gregory climbed on the bed and straddled him, leaning down and proceeding to show him exactly what Mycroft thought and wanted so bad.


	264. Hookah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> teen AU
> 
> I went to a hookah lounge tonight and then this happened. Lol. I can't help it, I think about Mystrade all the time. XD

Greg loved coming to this place. The music was great, the atmosphere was relaxing, and the food was good.  Even more than that, though, was the smoking.  He couldn’t remember which one of his friends first brought him to the Hookah Lounge, but he’d been coming frequently ever since. It was within walking distance to the school and was the perfect place to unwind, which he normally did right before or after a huge exam.

 

Sometimes the place was completely packed. Other times he could catch it on a calmer evening. Tonight was one of those evenings, which he was immensely grateful for, because it was the night he’d finally convinced his boyfriend to come along.  Mycroft had always seemed to have a curious, but skeptical view of the place, and while the younger boy did smoke cigarettes on occasion (though not as much as Greg), he’d never had any desire to actually visit the place.

 

Once they’d settled down on one of the large, extremely comfortable couches, Greg reached over and plucked up the menu sitting on the table in front of them.  He draped his arm loosely around the younger boy’s shoulders and shifted close, handing him the menu.  Greg had tried every flavor and he liked most of them, so he wanted Mycroft to be the one to make the final decision.  He watched his boyfriend mull over the menu for a few minutes, before they settled on an apple flavor, which he ordered along with a couple of waters.

 

“I will admit, this place isn’t quite what I had expected,” Mycroft commented, leaning into Greg’s body more comfortably while they waited. “It’s rather nice.”

 

“Of course it is,” Greg chuckled, grinning. “I don’t tend to frequent gross places.”

 

“Well, there was that one pub, Gregory…” Mycroft pointed out, arching an eyebrow.  Greg laughed.

 

“Well… yeah, but I have since then been shown the error of my ways,” he smirked.

 

Mycroft laughed at that – a wonderful sound, Greg would never be over how lovely it was – and they both glanced up as the hookah was brought over to the table and set down.  The woman who brought it over, Sarah, handed over the hose and set their waters down, offering a bit of friendly small talk before leaving them alone.

 

Greg took the first few hits, getting it set up nicely, before handing the hose over to Mycroft.  The younger teen took it and glanced at it, eyes scanning across the whole contraption and then over to Greg.  He nodded and smiled, and then Mycroft glanced back at the hose in his hand before bringing it up and taking a long drag. He frowned a bit as he exhaled, and then started coughing.

 

“Hey now, Myc,” Greg smiled, taking the hose back and then reaching for one of the waters. “Don’t hit it so hard, love. It’s strong.”

 

“Yes, clearly,” Mycroft commented airily, coughing again before accepting the water with a grateful nod.  Greg took some more hits off it while he watched his boyfriend nursing the water and clearing his throat, before finally leaning forward to set it on the table.

 

“Wanna try again?” he asked, wiggling the hose slightly.

 

“I suppose so,” Mycroft nodded, reaching to take it back.  He was more careful this time around, which went better and didn’t have him falling into a coughing fit again.  They talked a bit, Greg bouncing ideas off Mycroft for his final paper in English, sharing the hookah a bit (though Greg tended to smoke more of it than Mycroft did).

 

“Hey, I’ve got an idea,” he commented after a bit. Mycroft glanced over at him, raising his eyebrows curiously.

 

“Oh?”

 

“Mmhmm.  C’mere, get a bit closer,” he said, shifting on the couch and turning so that he was facing Mycroft a bit more.  He switched hands with the hookah, sliding his arm around the younger teen’s waist as he shifted closer, tugging him slightly onto one leg.

 

“Gregory?” Mycroft asked, blinking at their more intimate position.  He glanced around, but there were maybe only another four people in the entire establishment and none of them were paying attention.

 

“We’re gonna shotgun it,” Greg grinned. Tilting his head back, he brought the hose up near his lips. “I’ll hit it, and then you lean in and kiss me.”

 

Greg wanted to laugh at the skeptical look he was getting, but he just smiled instead.  He knew Mycroft would like it.  So, He took a long hit and then set the hose down, reaching up to cup Mycroft’s cheek as he leaned in and pressed their lips together.  Greg parted his, and Mycroft instinctively followed suit, allowing the older teen to breathe apple-flavored smoke into his mouth. Mycroft’s hand moved to settle along the back of his neck as the transfer turned into a kiss, slow and sensual.

 

After a moment, Mycroft pulled back and turned his head to the side, blowing out the remainder of smoke.  Greg watched him, pupils dilated a bit, and started to grin as they were looking at each other again.  Mycroft’s cheeks were tinted a light shade of pink, and his pupils were dilated as well.

 

“Shotgunning?” Mycroft asked. Greg nodded.

 

“Wanna do it again?” he asked back, shivering as Mycroft’s slender fingers stroked the skin on his neck.

 

“Yes, I believe I do.”


	265. Continuous Leg Appreciation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Mark Gatiss' legs are irresistible. LOL

Greg stared. He blinked, licked his lips, and stared some more. Never in his life had he expected to see something like this. He had expressed his appreciation for Mycroft’s body in every way imaginable, especially how much he loved the younger man’s arse and legs. He did, truly. They were gorgeous.

The last thing he expected, however, was to walk into their bedroom and see Mycroft Holmes wearing thigh high stockings and a thong.

A bloody thong. Greg couldn’t stop from gaping. Mycroft was smirking at him from across the room, arms crossed loosely across his chest. Greg swallowed, eyes running up and down his partner’s almost naked form. Apart from those two articles of clothing (if you could really even call them that), he wore nothing.

“I take it you approve, Gregory?” Mycroft asked, breaking the heavy silence. Greg was chewing on his lip.

“God yes,” he sighed, walking towards the other man slowly. His eyes were locked on Mycroft’s waist and thighs. He could just make out the curve of his arse. It made him twitch in his trousers, just a tease at what he knew he would get to enjoy much more fully.

Once they were standing next to each other, Greg pressed close and ran his hands along Mycroft’s sides. The younger man slipped a leg in between Greg’s and pushed, creating friction that caused him to get completely hard, and he gasped softly.

“What made you do this?” he managed to ask, fingers running along the string of the thong, sliding around and lightly tracing the curve, before grabbed his arse better and squeezing. It pulled a hum from Mycroft.

“Because I know what it does to you,” he whispered, lips brushing against Greg’s ear. “I know how you turn to jelly. And I want you to surrender to me tonight.”

Greg groaned. He didn’t need to say anything else. He would happily surrender, just as he was eagerly letting Mycroft push him over to the bed. There was enough distance between them that he could glance down and watch the way his hips moved, the way his muscles flexed with each deliberate step he took. It was mesmerizing.

Mycroft had tilted his head down so he could start pressing slow kisses to Greg’s neck. He tilted his head back and groaned, hands running up and down the taller man’s sides, sliding around to his back and down. He explored every inch of warm skin he could reach, tracing the dip of his arse and running a finger down along the middle. It earned a wonderful shiver from Mycroft, whose erection was pressed against his thigh, and he started sucking on Greg’s collarbone enough to leave a pretty significant mark.

“Turn around?” Greg asked once they had approached the bed. He was all about letting Mycroft take control tonight. But he wanted to indulge in the choice of clothing for a moment before it was all taken off. Mycroft seemed to sense that and smirked, before turning slowly. Greg bit his lip again, before sinking to his knees and biting a soft area of flesh right under the strap of the thong. He heard Mycroft suck in a sharp breath, and brought his hands up to settle on his hips and rub in small circles as he ran his nose and lips along the bare skin of his arse…

With a gasp, Greg’s eyes flew open. He blinked, adjusting to the surroundings that were obviously not with Mycroft. He was alone. Groaning, he rubbed his face roughly as he tried to wake up. Christ that had been an erotic dream. Should’ve known it was a dream, because he honestly didn’t think Mycroft would ever randomly wear a thong like that…

Glancing down, he sighed at the throbbing erection that was tenting his pajama pants. There was a slight damp patch already there, showing just how aroused he was if there was already that significant of an amount of pre-cum. He licked his lips and reached down, sleepily palming at his length through the fabric. It sent a shiver through him, and he let his eyes flutter closed as he imagined Mycroft in that severe lack of clothing again from his dream.

With his other hand, he reached for his mobile. Maybe his partner was still awake… Continuing to gently squeeze himself, he opened their text thread and quickly typed out: You need to come home; I’m starting to have insatiable dreams about you.

The reply came almost instantly.

Are you touching yourself?

Greg smirked as he read the response, waking up a lot more quickly now. The only time Mycroft didn’t sign his texts was when they started sexting. He bit his lip, shifting his hips up a bit and squeezing.

Sure am.

Push your trousers down. Wrap your hand around yourself properly. I want to see.

Greg groaned, huffing out a pant and scrambling to do just that. He loved how Mycroft just knew what he was already doing. He pushed down the material and shivered as his erection hit cool air. It was glistening, and right as he was going to settle in again, his mobile chimed with the video conference call that was being requested. He answered it immediately, having to bite back a groan when he saw that Mycroft was definitely shirtless. Christ, he was probably naked. His cheeks had a bit of color to them, meaning that he was already aroused too. Perfect.

“Gregory,” he said softly, his voice low. Greg shivered again.

“Hey Myc,” he said breathlessly, eyes fluttering a bit as he wrapped his fingers around himself. He watched Mycroft shift.

“Show me.”

It was more than a request. It was a command. It was so fucking hot. Adjusting the grip on his mobile, Greg hit the camera icon so that it switched views. The change in expression on Mycroft was subtle, but brilliant. He started talking, the two of them telling each other how they wanted them to touch themselves, how they wanted to see the other come…

Greg desperately wanted Mycroft to come home. But at least things like this made their time apart more bearable. His orgasm hit with Mycroft’s name on his lips, and the aftershocks hit him as Mycroft cried out his name as well, and Greg continued to stroke himself lazily until he was too sensitive to handle it anymore.

“Mmmm… that was precisely what I needed tonight, my dear,” Mycroft sighed as they recovered, slumping back against the headboard of his hotel bed.

“Me too,” Greg yawned, smiling as he curled into their pillows more after cleaning himself off.

“So tell me of this dream that had you so deliciously hot and bothered.”

Greg’s face flushed in a bit of embarrassment, but he shoved that out quickly. He knew Mycroft wouldn’t judge him. He licked his lips and bit back a yawn, before starting to explain his erotic dream.


	266. Just One Set

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another teen AU.
> 
> I realize I've done quite a few of those recently. But... Here's a bit of an exclusive. That hint into my mindset might just be the beginnings of something I have in the works for when the year is over and this is done... HMMMMM. Stay tuned. ;)

“Just one set?” Gregory would always ask. “It’ll be fun.”

 

Mycroft just never could bring himself to go. He couldn’t bring himself to visit a sub-par bar, where he knew drunken teenagers and extremely obnoxious people would surround him and bump into him and lord knows what else. He couldn’t bring himself to suffer through that to see his boyfriend’s band perform.  There was no doubt about how impressed he was over Gregory’s talent. It was not something he kept hidden, and he thoroughly enjoyed listening to him play on the acoustic he kept in his room.  This was a whole different beast, however.

 

One day, though, the younger teen had been asked enough times.  He knew Gregory never took it personally or got too upset when he turned down the invitation, but… This time, when Gregory asked him, Mycroft found himself nodding. He realized in that moment that watching those brown eyes light up the way they did was worth whatever he would endure later on that week.

 

That was how Mycroft found himself pressed against the wall in the back of the bar, arms crossed, attempting to avoid everyone stumbling around and cheering and being ridiculous.  The only way this was bearable was getting to see his boyfriend in his element.  Performing like this livened Gregory in a way little else did.  He was beautiful.

 

Mycroft also found this to be rather frustrating, however. There was an annoyance and irritation thrumming through him, and not just because the group of people near him dropped a glass and shattered it, spilling beer everywhere. He rolled his eyes, shifting away from the mess, and trying not to glare ahead.  The only problem with Gregory being in his element was that everyone got to see it. The older teen like this… It was usually reserved for _just_ Mycroft. He was a fun and happy person all the time, of course, but there was an extra glow and energy to him as he stood up on that stage.  No one in here was worthy to bear witness to this.  Mycroft didn’t want them to.  He wanted them to avert their eyes respectfully and keep staring at their shoes until the set was done and Mycroft could drag his boyfriend out of here and away from them all.

 

Gregory was standing up there, singing his heart out, and it was gorgeous.  His everything was in it, and his dark hair was damp with sweat, and he was swaying… He was interacting with the crowd now and again and it made Mycroft growl deep in his throat. Watching him grin and wink and play the crowd like he could so expertly… Perhaps the irritation was unfounded, and perhaps he was being irrational, but he supposed this was what it felt like to be jealous.

 

He watched Gregory weave his way through the crowd as they took a brief interlude.  Huffing through his nose, Mycroft pushed off the wall, keeping strong in his irritation even as his heart fluttered at the sight of that gorgeous grin being directed at him.

 

“Hey,” Gregory said, coming up and stroking his bicep. He leaned out of the touch, attempting subtlety, but clearly failing as he watched the older teen blink in confusion.

 

“This has been lovely, but I believe I’m going to go,” he announced, unable to keep his voice from sounding snappy and icy. He started to turn, glancing at the people behind them, before Gregory was grabbing his arm and pressing closer.

 

“Wait!  Please stay, Myc,” he asked in a hushed tone, almost inaudible with the ruckus around them.  Mycroft froze, staring into those eyes, and watching his expression… His shoulders slumped and he sighed.

 

“Fine,” he muttered, turning to face him again. “But know that I don’t appreciate watching you make eyes at all those people.”

 

“Myc, darling,” Gregory was saying, but then he pressed his lips together and shook his head, before smiling. “I’m sorry, love. I know I get carried away sometimes. Just… stay the rest of the set. Then we can head back together?”

 

“Perhaps,” he said slowly, not entirely agreeing. He was unsure if he would be amenable to sleeping in the same bed as his boyfriend tonight, even if the teen wasn’t intentionally flirting.  He wasn’t _angry_ with Gregory, because that would be completely unfounded, but it didn’t change that the jealousy was raging in him like a caged tiger ready to pounce at the slightest threat.

 

They shared a brief, chaste kiss and Mycroft managed to return the smile that Gregory gave him, before having to head back up to the stage.  Glancing around, Mycroft moved to settle back in to a similar spot as he was before. It had been vacated slightly – thank goodness – so he was able to settle back in and sigh as he prepared himself for the remaining onslaught of annoyance during Gregory’s performance.

 

The band went through some more songs, and Mycroft was all but glaring at a group of girls up near the front that were clearly trying their best seduction techniques.  He was so distracted that for a moment, he barely realized there was no song playing.  He blinked, focusing his attention again, tuning into whatever Gregory was saying.

 

“-and it’s been an absolute blast,” he was saying, smiling and breathing just slightly heavier due to the performance he’d been giving. “We’ve got one more song before we call it quits, one we’ve never played before.  It’s not a cover, this is one I actually wrote myself.  Also…”

 

Gregory’s eyes scanned the crowd and locked with Mycroft’s, whose breath left his body in that instant.  What was mere seconds felt like an eternity, and his heart was pounding, and then those deep brown eyes softened.  For a brief moment, his face switched to the intimate one Mycroft knew so well.  The younger teen sucked in a breath.

 

“I wrote it for one person alone. The only person for me, and who makes me life an amazing one.  Myc, love, you are my everything.”

 

Mycroft bit his lip as the song started. He remembered hearing the process of this song coming into creation.  This song was theirs, and it… it had never seen the light of day until now. They stared at each other the entire song, apart from when Gregory’s eyes would flutter closed as the words got particularly emotional.  Mycroft forgot how to breathe.  Everyone else was in the bar was gone.  It was the two of them and no one else.  Even the jealousy was gone.  Replaced with love and awe, Mycroft felt lighter, and he smiled much more genuinely this time around.


	267. Not On Date Night

Greg was frowning to himself as he left the Yard for the evening.  It had been a long day, way too long, with a murder pulling him out of bed at 4am. He’d been going ever since. Surprisingly, he got out at a decent time, as it wasn’t even 7pm yet, but… He was bloody exhausted. He didn’t want to be. He was angry with himself for wanting to do nothing more than pass the hell out.

 

It was date night.  He and Mycroft had started trying to set aside one night every week or two that they would guarantee they could spend together.  With the insanity of both their work schedules, it was easy to go weeks without really seeing each other.  There was no tension in it, not like it had always been in Greg’s past relationships, but it was a decision they had come to together and it was amazing.

 

It was date night, and all Greg wanted to do was go to bed.  He felt awful about it. He knew Mycroft would understand if that’s the route he ended up taking, but he didn’t want to. They’d had to postpone last week’s, so it was two weeks out and Greg wasn’t going to muck it up again.

 

Not that he was going to be able to hide it from the younger man.  Mycroft could take one look at him and know his entire day.  That wasn’t going to stop Greg from trying.  He was a stubborn bastard like that.  So with a huff, he dropped into his car and made the drive home, biting back yawn after yawn and focusing on the road and the music he’d turned up significantly louder than normal to keep him alert.  It helped a bit, and he was more awake as he arrived home. Even still, the walk from the car to the front door was slower than normal.  Christ he was exhausted.

 

He scrubbed his face roughly, running a hand through his hair and jumping a bit in place as he stood in front of the door. _Wake up, damnit_.  He exhaled and nodded, biting back a persistent yawn as he finally stepped inside. He smelled tea, which made tension seep out of his shoulders, and he sighed.  Licking his lips, he hung up his coat and made his way through their home, glancing in the kitchen to find it empty, before heading to the sitting room.

 

Mycroft was seated on the sofa, cup of tea in his hands. He looked up past the cup as he sipped the steaming liquid, pale eyes running across Greg’s body momentarily. Greg offered him a soft smile, which was returned as Mycroft leaned forward and set his cup down on the table in front of him.  Then, silently, he leaned back and stretched his legs out along the sofa a bit, opening his arms and gesturing for the older man to come over.

 

Greg blinked and his shoulders slumped. He could tell by the expression on Mycroft’s face that he could tell instantly how tired he was. Of course.  He’d known before stepping foot in the door but still wished he could have kept it controlled enough.  He did, however, let his feet take him across the room until he reached the sofa, where he all but collapsed into it.  He sighed, slumping against Mycroft’s body and closing his eyes as those comforting arms wrapped around his torso.

 

“But it’s date night,” he grumbled, attempting protest, even as another yawn snuck out of him.  He blamed Mycroft’s slender fingers stroking his hair. Of course that would be so soothing that he could easily fall asleep.

 

“Yes, and the point of date night is spending it together,” Mycroft whispered, pressing his nose and lips into Greg’s hair. He kissed slowly, and Greg sighed again, curling more into the hold. “Which we can do just like this. There’s no point in denying how exhausted you are, Gregory.”

 

Still frowning, Greg shifted so he could gaze up at his partner.  Mycroft offered him another gentle smile, cupping his cheek and pulling him into a kiss. He reached up to grip gently at the man’s waistcoat, pressing closer and sighing against his lips happily.

 

As he curled into Mycroft’s embrace, he nuzzled into his collarbone and closed his eyes with a smile.  Mycroft gazed down at him, smiling gently and talking softly about the meetings he’d attended that day.  Greg didn’t fall asleep, really, but he settled into the most comfort he’d felt all day.  He loved date night.


	268. She Needs Me

Greg was numb.  That was the only word for it.  _Numb_.  How could this have happened?  He’d been on buses millions of times.  His daughters had too.  Especially with Elizabeth in uni now, and no longer living in London, she took the bus a lot.  It was such a normal bloody thing.  Accidents were possible, always, but in all these years…

 

He barely remembered getting the call about the crash. He barely remembered getting to the hospital.  He hadn’t left since. He hadn’t slept in at least 36 hours, sitting or pacing in his eldest daughter’s hospital room as she slept on. He had been told multiple times it wasn’t a coma.  They seemed fairly confident about that.  Greg couldn’t help but be worried, though…

 

 _Oh god_ he couldn’t lose her.  He didn’t know what he would do if his Elizabeth was taken from him like this. Granted, they had been one of the lucky ones.  He’d seen some of the other people in the accident, and they were so much worse off than Elizabeth was. She wasn’t out of the woods, granted, but at least she had a chance.  Not that it was much comfort, looking at the angry bruises running up her arm and neck, seeing the breaks and sprains all over her body, seeing the cuts and swelling…

 

He was curled up in the uncomfortable hospital chair, head in his hands, trying not to hyperventilate.  It was the sixth time he had today.  When was the last time he’d eaten?  Not that it mattered.  He wasn’t hungry.  He knew he’d just throw back up whatever he consumed.  Sinking into the chair even more, he hugged his knees up to his chest, gripping his trousers tightly, barely aware of his mobile chiming on the small table next to him.

 

He gripped his hair as hot tears stung his eyes again. Gritting his teeth, he sucked in a shaky breath and leaned forward, resting his arms against the side of the bed and setting his hand on top of Elizabeth’s.  He rubbed the top of her hand with his thumb, tears sliding down his cheeks, his breath coming out in sharp gasps.

 

“Come back to me, baby,” he whispered, biting his lip roughly.

 

He froze, practically jumping, when a hand settled on his shoulder and squeezed.  He hadn’t heard anyone come in… Taking a deep breath, he shut his eyes tight and rubbed at his face, trying to calm down.  Turning, he stared up at his partner and almost burst into tears again at the open, concerned, caring expression on his face.

 

“You don’t need to be strong for me, Gregory,” Mycroft whispered, stepping forward and crouching down so that they were more level with each other.

 

Mycroft said he didn’t need to be strong, and in that moment, everything crumbled.  Greg flung himself forward into a warm embrace, burying his face in Mcyroft’s neck and sobbing.  The sound was muffled, and he tried to keep some form of self-control, but it was hard. He couldn’t stop. Mycroft hugged him as tight as he physically could, and Greg felt the way the expensive material of his jacket bunched up in his hands.

 

“It’s all right,” Mycroft whispered, kissing his head and stroking his hair. “It’ll be all right.”

 

Greg had no idea how the younger man could say that. He also knew Mycroft wasn’t one for sugarcoating, so in his heart, he had to believe him. Surely he wasn’t just saying that… It was so hard to think, to focus.  All he could do was cry, until he was just physically too tired to do so anymore. Trying to control his breathing, he finally sat up a bit straighter.  He didn’t wanna know what he looked like.

 

“Sorry,” he croaked, rubbing at his face and concerned about the way Mycroft’s legs were most likely cramping up bad.

 

“Don’t be foolish, Gregory,” Mycroft said softly, the smallest of smiles playing on his face.  He reached out and brushed Greg’s cheek, who leaned into the touch with a shaky sigh. “She hasn’t woken?”

 

“No,” Greg answered after a moment, sighing and frowning.

 

“Her vitals are strong, however,” Mycroft continued. “That is a good sign.  Gregory, let me take you home.”

 

“I can’t leave her,” he protested, turning and staring over at where she was asleep. “I need to be here when she… She needs me. I can’t, Mycroft.”

 

“You haven’t slept in almost four days,” the younger man commented.  Greg blinked. Had it really been four days? Christ.  Longer than he’d thought…

 

“I _can’t_ , Mycroft,” Greg said, biting his lip and fighting back a fresh round of tears.  He heard his partner sigh, but Mycroft said nothing to protest.  Instead, he just stood and adjusted the chairs so that they were facing each other in the best way they could in small chairs, and pulled Greg into his arms.

 

Greg clung to him, leaning back against his chest and trying to relax.  Mycroft wrapped his arms around him and they started breathing together slowly, in and out and in. He could feel himself trembling. This was far from over. But Mycroft was here now, and for the first time all day he felt he could deal with this.


	269. I'm Glad...

It had been two weeks.  Two weeks of waiting, and pain and fear, and concern. Yet now, finally, Greg’s oldest daughter Elizabeth was getting discharged from the hospital after the bus crash she’d been involved in.  It took days for her to even wake up, and when she did, it was a slow and tedious path to recovery.  Her vitals had spiked in scary directions more than once, and Greg had never felt more panicked than when he was forced out of the room as nurses flooded the area to tend to the severe reaction she’d had to… something.  He was so scared and shocked that he’d honestly forgotten.

 

It was only after she had woken that Greg was finally convinced to leave the hospital and get some sleep in his own bed. A combination of Mycroft and Elizabeth all but kicked him out, and that night he had taken a long and hot shower with his partner, been on the receiving end of a slow, affectionate blowjob, and fell asleep in Mycroft’s steady arms.  It was the best sleep he’d gotten in ages.

 

Now, however, wrapped up in baggy but normal clothes, he was helping his daughter into a wheelchair that had been brought in. She still had stitches and casts that would take weeks to heal completely, but she was strong enough that it wasn’t required for her to be constantly monitored in the hospital. Mycroft was talking with the doctor, going over her discharge instructions and getting all the required prescriptions they needed filled, while Greg stayed with Elizabeth.

 

“I’ve got it da,” she sighed as she tried lowering herself into the chair one-handed.  Greg didn’t move from where he had his arms under hers, hands gentle but secure around her torso.

 

“Liz, love, just let me help,” he said softly, moving and steadying her until she was firmly seated in the chair. Elizabeth was too much like him in these regards.  Always focusing on being independent and taking care of herself, not wanting to accept constant help from others.  Not wanting to inconvenient anyone… She had protested enough that Greg wasn’t going back to work fully for at least another week or two once they’d taken her home so he could be there with her.

 

“You realize if you’re like this all the time at home, we are gonna butt heads so bad it’s not even funny,” she commented, but she had a huge smile on her face that betrayed the tension she was threatening. Greg smirked as he picked up a bag of her belongings and slung it over his shoulder.

 

“Yeah, well, that’s what he’s here for,” he commented, nodding his head towards Mycroft, who had just walked in the room. The younger man raised his eyebrows and tucked a folder under his arm.

 

“I will not protect you from her, Gregory,” he commented with a smirk, obviously knowing just what they were talking about. Elizabeth started giggling, and it filled Greg’s heart.  What a beautiful sound, and he’d been so worried he wouldn’t be able to hear it anymore…

 

“That’s right, Abs is always the one who actually takes my side,” he teased, pouting playfully before reaching a hand out and wiggling his fingers towards Mycroft. “I’ll take the folder, if you wanna drive the wheelchair.”

 

Mycroft hummed, before nodding and handing it over. Greg adjusted the bag along his shoulders and peeked at some of the papers inside before slipping it in the bag as well. Mycroft walked around and set his hands on the handles of the wheelchair, and they were off.

 

The process of getting Elizabeth inside the car was a slow one, Greg helping her stand and get her in while Mycroft kept the chair steady.  Soon, though, they were headed home.  Greg sat in the middle of the seat, Elizabeth leaning against him on one side and Mycroft typing away on his phone on the other.  He was glad his daughter was coming home with them during her recovery.  His ex-wife wasn’t going to be around as much as she would have needed her to, which frankly pissed Greg off a bit, but it worked out for the better.  Plus, according to Mycroft, Elizabeth had wanted to stay with them anyway, even though she’d never said anything to Greg about it.  Not that she didn’t love her mother, but tensions had been high between them since the divorce and the cheating…

 

“I’m glad you’re coming home with us, Liz,” he whispered, rubbing her shoulder with his thumb.  She smiled, turning into his hold a bit (as much as her injuries would allow, anyway).

 

“Me too, da,” she whispered back, closing her eyes and falling into a half sleep as they made their way through London.


	270. Oh My

They weren’t in the door for more than a minute when Greg pushed Mycroft up against a wall and kissed him hard. The younger man gasped into his mouth, giving Greg the opportunity to slip his tongue in and suck gently. His hands gripped his partner’s waist, hooking his thumbs in the belt loops of his trousers, and tugging their bodies closer together.  Mycroft had been bloody _irresistible_ at dinner, and he was getting what he’d asked for, that was for sure.  Not that either man was complaining about that.

 

“Gregory…” Mycroft groaned, knees shaking and back arching. Greg growled, pulling away from his mouth so he could start kissing along his chin and his jaw. He remained here for a while, loving the sharp feeling of his facial structure.  Snaking an arm around Mycroft’s back, he breathed hot air along his pale skin as he licked the curves of his jaw and neck.

 

Mycroft whimpered.  It encouraged Greg to keep going, and _god_ did he love kissing and licking and nipping at his chin, jaw, and neck. He could stay there for hours, exploring every dip and curve, tasting the essence of him. Pressing further against the wall, he released Mycroft’s waist so he could go up to start unbuttoning his shirt and waistcoat, tugging them aside to reveal more of his collarbone. This was his other favorite place. He leaned in, breathing in deep and nuzzling, before licking and biting there as well.

 

“ _Oh_!” Mycroft gasped, tilting his head back.  It thumped against the wall rather loudly, but neither man seemed to notice. Greg’s hands continued to wander, sliding down Mycroft’s sides and tugging his shirt out of his trousers so he could slip underneath and stroke the smooth skin there.  He could feel Mycroft’s body trembling under every touch, and the noises he was drawing from the man were damn near musical.

 

He continued to explore the area, moving up his neck and chin again, kissing slowly and nipping, and then back down to his collarbone again.  He bit down harder this time, causing Mycroft to cry out and dig his manicured nails into Greg’s shoulders.  Greg groaned, shivering at the feeling, and in return be started to suck on the bright red spot he had bit.

 

Mycroft’s erection was pressed against his thigh, and as Greg sucked, the younger man arched against him and created friction that sent a lightning hot spark through them both.  Panting harshly, Greg was unable to resist sliding his hand down and cupping Mycroft, rubbing him through the expensive materials and feeling the hint of dampness of pre-cum.  He kept sucking on his collarbone, knowing how angry of a mark it was going to leave and _dying_ to see it. He was feeling terribly possessive.

 

Finally, Mycroft was practically rutting into his hand, groaning and grabbing at Greg desperately.  Being able to make the posh man come undone like this was something the older man would never get tired of experiencing. It was beautiful. He pulled away from his collarbone with a final lick, kissing his way back up his neck and nuzzling at his chin and jaw again.

 

“Bed?” he asked hoarsely, his voice rough and deep. They stared at each other, pupils blown wide with lust, and Mycroft nodded.

 

“Right now,” he practically growled. The noise went straight to Greg’s cock. Yes, right now it was.

 

They stumbled across the sitting room, grabbing at each other and pausing multiple times along the way to attack each other’s mouths again.  By the time they finally reached the bedroom, Greg was shirtless and Mycroft was down to his shirt, which was half unbuttoned and sliding off one shoulder.  Their clothes had been left along the way, for once the younger man not caring where his jacket and waistcoat had ended up.

 

Mycroft pushed Greg down onto the bed, crawling on top of him and straddling him, grinding their crotches together as he initiated another heated kiss.  Greg groaned into it, grabbing at him roughly and hooking a leg around his waist.

 

Later, they collapsed into bed, panting harshly. They were sweaty and sticky with come, but they still couldn’t keep their hands off each other. These touches were reverent and gentle, however, curling their legs together and sharing slow kisses.

 

“Bathroom,” Mycroft whispered after a moment, squeezing Greg’s hand before getting out of bed.  He reached for his dressing gown to wrap around him, before heading into their en suite.  Greg folded his hands under his head and watched, a soft smile on his face. He closed his eyes, before hearing the soft gasp coming from Mycroft, which made him grin.  He had a feeling he knew what it was…

 

“Gregory?” came Mycroft’s voice, questioning and slightly in awe.  It made Greg grin more. “Oh…wow.  Oh my.”

 

Unable to resist, Greg got out of bed and wandered over, completely naked, and leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. Mycroft’s eyes were wide and his slender fingers were lightly touching the bright red and purple mark on his collarbone. Greg’s grin widened.

 

“Yeah, I got a bit carried away,” he shrugged, not regretting it in the least. “Don’t worry, no one else will know it’s there.”

 

“I’m not worried,” Mycroft smiled gently, still blinking as he gazed at it.  Then, he reached out and tugged Greg close, nuzzling his cheek. “Not worried in the least.”


	271. Unplanned Discussions

“I’ve got a pain kink,” Greg said, shrugging. He and Mycroft were halfway through their second bottle of wine, and it was all so relaxing, and when did they get to talking about sexual things?  He had no idea.  But here they were, discussing kinks, and he found himself perfectly okay with that.

 

“A pain kink?” Mycroft repeated, sipping his wine and raising his eyebrows.  Greg’s eyes wandered his face, lingering a bit on the way his cheeks were tinted slightly pink from the alcohol.  He looked beautiful.

 

“Yup,” Greg nodded, stretching his feet out along the sofa and settling them in Mycroft’s lap.  The younger man didn’t protest, only settled his hand on his shin and rubbed absently.

 

“What degree of pain, would you say?” Mycroft asked after a moment of silence.

 

“Nothing insane,” Greg said, thinking about it. He swirled the dark red liquid in his glass, watching it move, feeling fuzzy in the head.  Yeah, he doubted he would be driving back home tonight. He was a bit past tipsy at this point, and they were still going. “Like, biting, scratching with nails and stuff. Hair tugging.  Nothing that would be concerning or really make me bleed I guess, but I don’t mind some nice bruising in the morning.”

 

Mycroft hummed, saying nothing, just watching. There was seriousness to his gaze that Greg couldn’t pinpoint, but it made him shiver a bit. It was almost like he was storing away the information for later use.  At least… Greg hoped that was the case.  He swallowed, staring into his wine before finishing off the glass in one big gulp.  It was filled again a moment later, which he nodded his head in thanks, before turning one of his feet to nudge at Mycroft’s stomach lightly.

 

“What’s one of yours?” he asked, watching Mycroft expectantly.  There was no way he would be the only one sharing tonight.

 

“Domination,” Mycroft answered after a moment of thinking.  Greg smirked; that wasn’t too surprising, considering the man’s line of work and personality. “Control. On either end, really. The arousal is different if it’s me that’s in control or the other person.”

 

Greg listened with his lips parted just slightly. Maybe it was the alcohol, or their topics of conversation, or just hearing Mycroft talk about something that affected him like that.  Greg honestly thought it was a mixture of it all.  Regardless of the causes, he couldn’t ignore the feelings that were pooling deep in his gut, or the fact that his jeans were starting to get a bit uncomfortable.

 

Mycroft, of course, noticed.  The younger man smirked a bit, leaning forward and setting his wine glass down on the table.  Then, he leaned across the sofa, hand sliding up Greg’s leg as he moved, so he could pluck his wine glass out of his grip and set it down as well. Greg shuddered, biting his bottom lip as he felt himself getting harder and more flushed.  His eyes couldn’t resist sliding down to see a mirroring bulge in his trousers as well.  He drew in a slight gasp.

 

“Mycrot…” he mumbled, watching the man shifting on the sofa and moving closer so that he was practically straddling him. Greg’s hand went to his waist, where he gripped securely, staring up at him.

 

“We are both armed with more knowledge of things,” Mycroft said, his voice slightly deeper than normal.  Greg shuddered.

 

“Yes… yes we are,” he agreed, licking his lips and rubbing Mycroft’s hips gently.

 

Mycroft leaned in and kissed Greg hard. Greg leaned back against the sofa, taking the other man with him, and hugging him closer.  The kisses trailed down Greg’s neck and approached the dip in his shoulder, where Mycroft proceeded to bite down.  Greg gasped, body jerking as he jumped up against him.

 

“ _Ooohhgod_ ,” he groaned, whimpering when Mycroft did it again. “Myc…”

 

“You’re going to do what I tell you tonight, Gregory,” Mycroft growled against his neck, sucking on the mark he’d just bitten into his shoulder.  A slender hand went up and played with his hair, before gripping tightly.  Greg gasped again, trembling.

 

“God yes,” he gasped, gripping at the back of Mycroft’s jacket tightly. “Please… command me.”

 

He arched up against Mycroft again, rubbing their crotches together, trying to create friction he so desperately needed. Mycroft tugged on his hair again and forced him still, which was so incredibly hot he thought for a moment he could come without his cock ever being touched.  But oh he wanted it touched.  He fucking wanted.

 

They kissed again heatedly, Mycroft yanking Greg up against him.  They were both panting harshly, just barely able to get off the sofa so they could move things into the bedroom.


	272. Learning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for iamtheparadoxoflife, who needed something insanely sweet and cuddly on a bad night. I hope this helps, darling. <3

Greg sighed, closing his eyes as he leaned back into the comforting warmth of Mycroft’s body.  If they could spend every night like this, relaxing on the sofa after a wonderful meal, he wouldn’t ask for anything else in his life. This was enough. He folded his hands together and rested them on his stomach, settling in between Mycroft’s legs and smiling as the man’s arms wrapped around him.

 

They were quiet, neither man rushing to initiate conversation.  It was fine, though. The silence was not at all uncomfortable. They were content in each other’s presence, and just… didn’t need to fill the space with anything. It had been a while since they had curled up together like this, with Greg sitting in front of Mycroft as the younger man leaned against the arm of the sofa.  Normally they stretched out side by side along the sofa, or sat next to each other and leaned in.  He was glad they were resting like this, though.  He could just let himself be surrounded by the love and warmth of Mycroft Holmes and forget about everything else.  Perfection.

 

After a few moments, slender hands came to rest on his. Greg cracked an eye open for a moment so he could admire the contact, before turning his hands a bit at the wrists as Mycroft started to move them.  Greg watched as his hands were lifted slightly, their fingers threading together loosely for a few moments.  Then, one of his hands was put down and both of Mycroft’s hands enveloped the other, bringing it a bit closer to their faces.

 

Mycroft’s fingers began to trace along each curve and dip of Greg’s fingers.  The touches were barely there, just a tickle of skin against skin, and it made the older man grin. What was Mycroft doing? It felt like everything was a mixture of affectionate and calculating, which was really what described Mycroft perfectly, and he was dying to ask but didn’t want to ruin the moment.

 

The strokes continued, the pads of Mycroft’s fingers tracing each line in his palm before moving to his wrist. They danced along the sensitive skin there, tracing each vein that protruded just slightly.  It made Greg shiver.  It wasn’t an arousing touch, really, but it felt good and it tickled just a bit, just enough to cause his senses to react.  Mycroft’s fingers paused at that, just for a breath of time, before he did it again and got the same response.  That earned an interested hum from the younger man, and Greg chuckled.

 

“What are you doing?” he asked finally, his voice barely above a whisper, straightening his arm a bit as Mycroft’s fingers began to run down the length of his arm.

 

“Learning,” Mycroft responded, voice just as soft as his, and Greg pressed back into him even more comfortably. His grin widened. He loved this.

 

“Learning me?” he asked, turning his head just a bit so he could glance up at Mycroft.  Pale eyes flicked over and ran across his face for a few moments, and he nodded.

 

“Obviously,” he said, grinning a bit. Greg chuckled again. He tilted a bit to the side as the hands began to move away from his arms and up to his neck, tracing his collarbone and circling the dip where neck met shoulder.  Greg hummed, closing his eyes again.  If they weren’t careful, he could easily fall asleep like this.

 

Mycroft paused along his pulse point, which Greg had expected.  Of _course_ he would take his pulse.  As he moved away from there a few moments later, he continued up Greg’s neck, tracing his jaw line and then his lips.  Greg turned his head more, causing his body to turn as well so Mycroft could see him easier.  He opened his eyes again to find Mycroft staring at him in a mixture of calculation and awe. It was one of the most gorgeous expressions Greg had ever seen on him.

 

Finally, after tracing his ear (which tickled a lot more than it had any right to) and stroking through his hair, Greg reached up to cup Mycroft’s cheek.  They leaned in, pressing their foreheads and noses together.  Smiling, Greg closed his eyes for a moment, before leaning in to press a series of slow kisses to Mycroft’s lips.

 

“So what did you learn?” he asked, reaching for Mycroft’s hand and threading their fingers together again. He brought their joined hands close, slowly kissing Mycroft’s knuckles, as he watched the man from under his eyelashes.

 

“That somehow, I have attained my very own Vitruvian man,” Mycroft whispered, playing with the hairs along the back of Greg’s neck. The older man couldn’t help but snort, feeling his face heat up at the frankly absurd, but terribly sweet compliment.

 

“Now I doubt that.  Don’t have that nice a stomach.  But… that’s ridiculously flattering, Myc.”

 

“Flattery was not quite the goal, but not necessarily a bad outcome.”

 

“Oh hush, I want to kiss you again.”

 

“By all means, Gregory.”


	273. Reading and Football

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on this lovely fanart: http://felixandria.tumblr.com/post/81247960627/the-lovely-mystradesexytimes-commissioned-me-to

Greg was firmly planted on the sofa, watching an Arsenal game, when Mycroft got home.  He smiled as he heard the door open and close, but kept sitting, for he knew the younger man would come find him anyway.  Besides, the game was almost to the half and it was damn good and he didn’t really want to miss anything.

 

He had all but collapsed on the sofa when he got home from the Yard earlier, not even bothering to head up to the bedroom to change out of his clothes.  Granted, he tugged his tie down so it was loose (he never wore bloody ties but there had been a press conference today, and it was always _expected_ at press conferences), unbuttoning the top three buttons of his shirt, and rolling up the sleeves a bit.  So overall, he was comfortable.  That’s all that mattered.

 

He grinned up at Mycroft as he entered the room, briefcase in hand and suit jacket draped around his arm.  The politician offered him a smile in return and made his way over, setting his briefcase down and draping his jacket along the back of a chair, before joining him on the sofa.

 

“Welcome home,” Greg said as a commercial hit seconds later.  He turned a bit, draping his arm across the back of the couch.  Mycroft seemed happy to see him, but the man also seemed rather exhausted. He’d been working some ridiculous hours this week, so it wasn’t surprising.

 

“Thank you, Gregory,” he smiled with the softest of sighs. “It is nice to be home.”

 

“Done for the week?”

 

“For a few days, hopefully,” Mycroft nodded, crossing his legs at the ankles and glancing at the Tesco commercial that was playing.

 

“Good, so you can relax,” Greg said. He propped his elbow up on the sofa, legs parted a bit, and smiled. “Don’t worry about work for a while. I’m watching a match, but you should sit with me.”

 

“That sounds lovely,” Mycroft smiled, setting a hand on Greg’s knee and rubbing slowly with his thumb.  He pressed closer, leaning into his side, and they shared some slow kisses for a while.  Once the match came back on, Mycroft straightened some, falling silent and replying to a few emails for Anthea.

 

“ _Relax_ , love,” Greg muttered in amusement, moving to squeeze Mycroft’s shoulder as his arm fell off the back of the couch and settled on his shoulders. “You don’t have to pay attention to the match, but I promise whatever it is, Anthea can wait a few hours.  She’s a capable woman.”

 

“It’s why I hired her,” Mycroft commented. Greg chuckled.

 

“Exactly.  So put that away and let your brain calm down for a bit.”

 

Thankfully, he did.  Mycroft leaned his head against Greg’s shoulder for a while, shifting with an amused smile when the older man got a bit too into the match and would jerk in excitement.  Finally, he slid across the sofa and reached for his briefcase, digging around until he found a small book tucked in the side pocket.

 

“I believe I’ll get some reading done,” he commented, lifting the book for emphasis. “Then perhaps when your match is concluded, we can start dinner.”

 

“Sounds great,” Greg grinned.

 

He shifted again, leaning to the side and patting his knee invitingly.  Mycroft raised his eyebrows at the gesture, but nodded as he realized what it was Greg was suggesting. Turning, the younger man stretched out along the sofa and moved to lie down, resting his head on Greg’s leg. It took a few brief seconds of shifting, but finally he settled in, and opened his book.

 

Greg’s attention turned back to the match. His arm moved to rest along the back of the sofa again.  The second half started before long, and it was intense, but with Mycroft resting against his knee, Greg was careful not to get too into it.  Even still, Arsenal was kicking arse.  They scored twice, which boggled his mind, but they were beautiful plays and it caused them to win.  It was brilliant.

 

As it moved away for post-match discussions, Greg glanced down with his lips parted to suggest dinner.  The words fell silent, however, and his mouth slowly curled into an affectionate smile.  Mycroft had fallen asleep on his knee, book open and resting against his chest. He had pulled his legs up a bit, and he was completely relaxed and just… serene. 

 

Okay, so dinner could wait.  Slowly, Greg reached over and stroked his dark ginger hair affectionately, which only caused Mycroft to turn a bit and sigh, parting his lips.  Greg watched the rise and fall of his chest, and he was beautiful.  It was strange to think of a man as beautiful.  But sometimes it was the only word that felt proper when it came to Mycroft.


	274. Guitar Lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> teen AU~

“Here, you need to put your fingers like this,” Greg said softly, leaning closer to Mycroft’s body.  He attempted to ignore the heat radiating off the other teen as his chest pressed against Mycroft’s back, and he wrapped his arms loosely around his slightly thinner body so he could settle his hands in place. His fingers lined up with Mycroft’s longer ones, so it looked quite comical really, but he couldn’t help but be a little envious.  Longer fingers meant it was easier to reach all the chords and Greg wished he had that advantage.

 

“It feels strange,” Mycroft muttered as he let his fingers be pressed against the strings.  Greg grinned.

 

“You get used to it after a while,” he whispered, resting his chin on his boyfriend’s shoulder. “This… is a G chord. One of your most common.”

 

“Mmm, yes, I see you hold this one a lot,” Mycroft said after a few seconds of glancing at the way their fingers were positioned.

 

“Yup,” Greg confirmed. “Now, just hold that for me.”

 

Slowly, Greg pulled his hand away, watching Mycroft hold the position perfectly.  He smiled and turned on the bed, reaching for the pick he had dropped next to him. He grabbed it and shifted it over into his left hand, before resuming his previous position. Smiling softly, he held it out for Mycroft to take with his left hand, and then guided his hand back towards the guitar.

 

“Yeah, hold it kinda like a pencil. There you go.  Now, strum.”

 

Mycroft seemed to be concentrating a lot as he moved his hand, and the chord sounded in the room.  It was pretty good, and it made Greg beam. Not to mention how utterly adorable the younger teen’s expression was as he was successful. There was almost nothing more wonderful than watching Mycroft soak in knowledge, and Greg hoped he could do it forever.

 

“That sounded awesome, Myc!” he said, straightening a bit and rubbing a hand along Mycroft’s back.

 

“I played one chord for approximately 5 seconds, Gregory,” the other teen said, raising his eyebrows as he glanced over his shoulder. “Hardly an achievement.”

 

“’Course it is, hush,” Greg dismissed, waving his hand in the air briefly. “Now let’s do a C chord.  So you’ll take this finger here, and move it…”

 

They went on like this for a while, as Greg showed Mycroft the different chords and had him strum each one a few times. He talked a little bit about them as they went along, wondering when Mycroft would tell him to shut up and just move on.  He never did, though. It was kind of brilliant.

 

Then, once they’d gone through everything, Greg shifted so they could turn to face each other.  He pulled his legs under him and set his hands on his lap, not leaning in to interfere with Mycroft and he guitar.  Then, he gestured for the younger teen to go back through the series of chords again.  It was a playful challenge of ‘see how much you remember after our run through’ kind of thing, and he was confident it would go over well.

 

Sure enough, it did.  Mycroft moved back to each chord almost flawlessly. As he progressed to some of the more awkward ones, it took him a moment to adjust his fingerings, but as he strummed the notes always came out perfectly.  Just like Greg knew they would. 

 

“You kicked arse, Myc!” he grinned, leaning in and cupping his boyfriend’s cheek, tugging him in for an impulsive kiss. It was brief and closed, not much of a kiss really, but as he sat back it dawned on him that they’d never really… They’d only been dating for a very short time and neither one of them had actually initiated a true kiss yet.  Until now, apparently.  He drew in a breath, face flushing instantly as Mycroft’s pale eyes widened in shock. They were both frozen on the bed.

 

“I, uh… sorry, I just… I got excited and…” Greg started stammering, rubbing the back of his head and staring down at the space between them on the bed.  A hand on his cheek halted his words.  Freezing, he managed to look up to see a more gentle expression on the younger teen’s face.

 

“Quite all right,” he whispered, scooting closer and setting the guitar aside. “Might we…”

 

“Y-yeah…” Greg nodded, licking his lips. “Yeah.”

 

He shifted closer as well, pressing their lips together in a hesitant kiss.  It started simple, like before, but gradually grew into something more intense and perfect. Greg felt like his chest was about to burst, and he wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s neck. 

 

Mycroft made a soft noise in the back of his throat and pressed even closer, finally breaking the kiss when neither of them could breathe.  Mycroft’s lips were pink and wet, and Greg wanted to kiss them all over again.

 

“I hope this isn’t how you teach everyone to play guitar,” Mycroft mumbled after a second, causing Greg to burst out into giddy laughter. 

 

“No, Myc,” he said, pressing their foreheads together. “No, you’re the exception.”


	275. Law and Order

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the fact that Law and Order is kind of a secondary ship name for them, and... well yeah. It's something I've used on and off for months, and then thanks to a text post on Tumblr that I was a part of, this was made:
> 
> http://duchesscloverly.tumblr.com/post/84491731867/law-order-mystrade-mydwynter-and-i-have
> 
> And then today, this happened based off the brilliant video:
> 
> http://clarice82.tumblr.com/post/99066424977/mystrade-law-order-hd-resolution
> 
> Soooooo... I couldn't resist any longer. XD

Grabbing a beer from the fridge, Greg wandered through to the sitting room and collapsed onto the sofa with a soft sigh. He stretched out and crossed his ankles, settling in and tossing the bottle cap onto the table in front of him. It clinked as it bounced a few times, before finally settling near the edge.  Greg reached for the remote and turned on the telly, flipping through the channels until he found what he was looking for.

 

He smiled to himself as he heard Mycroft coming in the door, a few commercials still playing before the programme started. He turned to grin at the younger man, nodding his head towards him, before gesturing him to come over.

 

“You’re just in time, it’s about to start,” he said, shifting on the sofa in the hopes Mycroft would come sit next to him. “Wanna join me?”

 

“You’re really about to watch that?” Mycroft asked in disbelief, arching an eyebrow.  Greg’s grin widened, and the show started. 

 

“In the criminal justice system, the people are represented by two separate yet equally important groups,” Greg said out loud along with the voiceover, pointing at Mycroft.  The younger man rolled his eyes. “The police, who investigate crime-“

 

He gestured to himself dramatically as he said that part.

 

“-and the Crown Prosecutors who prosecute the offenders.  THESE are their stories. BUM BUM.”

 

“You really just did the sound effect,” Mycroft commented.  Greg laughed.

 

“Don’t wanna watch?  Cuddle with me?” he asked, tilting his head and taking a swig of his beer.

 

“Very well,” Mycroft agreed with a playful sigh, wandering over and stretching out along the sofa as well.  Greg wrapped his arms around him and they leaned against each other, threading their fingers together as they watched.

 

“I don’t know how you stand to watch this show,” Mycroft said halfway through the episode, shaking his head.

 

“It’s fun,” Greg whispered, pressing a kiss into his hair and squeezing their joined hands.

 

“It’s really not, it is ridiculous and distractingly unrealistic,” Mycroft challenged. “Look at that, they just apprehended this man, who shows clear signs of guilt to be certain, but they’re already going to trial.  How does that not infuriate you?  You do this on a daily basis, you know just as well as I do a trial can take weeks, or even months to get to after the initial arrest.”

 

“Myc, love, it’s not meant to be realistic,” Greg said, grinning brightly.  It was really adorable how his partner over-analyzed these kinds of drama shows. Greg did have to admit, it was a bit bunch at times and there were some episodes he couldn’t get through, but overall he could watch it and enjoy it. “It’s for time constraints.”

 

“I am well aware of that, but it’s still ridiculous,” Mycroft muttered, somehow slouching into Greg’s body more and huffing. It was extremely Sherlock-like. Greg loved it when the Holmes brothers exhibited the same kinds of behaviors, even if neither of them would admit it.

 

“You know what would have been great for the detective to have right then?” Mycroft asked after another few moments. Greg hummed curiously.

 

“Notes.  They never take any damn notes.  You _always_ take notes. Because you’re an amazing, competent detective inspector.”

 

Greg bit back a laugh, but couldn’t keep from snorting. His face flushed at the compliment that was snuck in.

 

“Too right, love,” he giggled, kissing the top of his head again.  God he loved this man.

 

They both got up and headed into the kitchen to make tea once the show was over (“Finally”, Mycroft had muttered). Greg worked on getting the kettle set up while Mycroft got into the cabinets, the two of them working around each other with ease.  As they waited, something dawned on Greg and he gasped softly, drawing his partner’s attention.

 

“You know what?” he asked, beginning to grin again. Mycroft blinked.

 

“What?” the adorably confused man asked.

 

“I realized,” Greg started, a bit too amused with what he was about to say. “I am Law.  You. You are Order.”

 

“Oh dear lord, Gregory,” Mycroft sighed, shaking his head, but he couldn’t hide his smile.  Greg strode across the room, pulling Mycroft close and swaying a bit.

 

“Two separate, but equally important groups,” Greg whispered, leaning in and brushing his nose along Mycroft’s jaw. “The police, who has access to handcuffs…”

 

He nipped at Mycroft’s jaw, unsure from where the spark of heat had appeared.  He was romantically involved with one of the most irresistible men in all of England, though, so that kind of thing just happened.  Mycroft drew in a breath at the feeling, causing Greg to lean in more.

 

“And the _prosecutor_ ,” he continued, sliding a hand down to grab at Mycroft’s arse playfully. “Who does love to take control.”

 

“You are incorrigible,” Mycroft muttered, shuddering just slightly.

 

“And you love it,” Greg smirked. “Let’s have that tea and then perhaps head to bed?”

 

“Yes, let’s do just that.”


	276. Super Awkward Event

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's my second one for the night, to make up for not posting yesterday. Sorry about that. Things popped up and I needed to take the night for myself, to deal and decompress. All better now, though. :)

Greg was most certainly not good at these kinds of things.  Not good at all. It was awful enough when he was forced to run press conferences from some of their rather high profile cases. In a way, he was the face of New Scotland Yard, so attending and running those conferences were expected of him. It was honestly the worst part of his job.  He despised the damn things.

 

However, all of his press conferences felt like children’s birthday parties compared to what he was currently trying to navigate through.  His press conferences didn’t have napkins and silverware that cost more than his monthly salary. His press conferences didn’t have a room full of people who were a hell of a lot smarter and more important than he was. His press conferences didn’t have the bloody _Queen_ attending them.

 

It was fair to say he was wigging out. He’d been quiet the whole time, clutching a glass of champagne and glued to Mycroft’s arm.  As the politician had explained, Greg was here on a slightly professional capacity.  However, the moment they walked through the door, Mycroft had linked their arms together and spent the night introducing him as his partner, as well as Detective Inspector.

 

There had been some mingling and then everyone was sitting at a huge table, and that’s when the Queen came in. Greg had been rigid in his seat ever since.  Mycroft settled a hand on his knee, and hadn’t moved it.  The warmth was comforting, but not enough to allow him to relax.

 

“Breathe, Gregory,” Mycroft whispered, leaning close to him as someone was discussing some sort of budgets and military decisions and things Greg sure as hell wasn’t following along with. “You’ve been doing wonderful.”

 

“What am I supposed to be doing?” he asked, glancing at Mycroft for a moment.  The younger man offered him a gentle smile, and it helped. 

 

“Exactly what you are doing,” Mycroft replied, squeezing his knee. “My presence was required, I am getting a few things knocked off my agenda, while at the same time getting to show everyone else in here why I am more lucky than they are.  The fact that there is also police presence of import is very beneficial to us both.”

 

Greg gaped a bit at that, his face surely turning bright red.  Mycroft chuckled and brought his champagne glass to his lips, taking a sip without ever breaking eye contact.

 

“There will be food, soon.  Relax, Gregory.  We will be home within the hour.”

 

As promised, there was food.  It wasn’t a complete fancy meal like the posh restaurants Mycroft liked to take them to, but it was still a lot better than something Greg would eat or buy on a daily basis.  Everyone waited until the Queen began before picking up their own forks, and Greg was pretty sure he waited until he was the only one _not_ eating before finally starting in on his plate.  He ate slowly and timidly, because if there were a way to offend people with the way food was chewed, this would certainly be the place he would achieve that in.

 

Mycroft began talking to the gathering as the meal slowed down, going over some negotiations in a country he’d honestly never heard of.  He wondered if that was where he’d been off to last month when he was gone for a week. Greg could tell the exact moment one of the politicians got on Mycroft’s nerve, watching the way his partner’s jaw flexed when he was controlling the insult he desperately wanted to let fly. He had to force his smile down.

 

Over dessert, the man to his left leaned over and began making small talk.  He seemed very friendly, and Mycroft seemed very bored by him.  Greg was awkwardly pulled into the conversation, which ended up on some of his more recent cases, and he tried talking his way through them professionally and not getting hung up on every word that came out of his mouth.  He fidgeted with his napkin under the table the whole time.

 

He didn’t feel his shoulders relax until they were finally leaving.  It was about two hours later; Mycroft having been pulled into what seemed to be an important and heated debate about something Greg didn’t catch.  He was not included in that conversation, so he ended up just hovering nearby awkwardly until it was done.

 

“You did wonderfully,” Mycroft said when they were halfway home, finally putting his mobile down from where he was most likely emailing or texting Anthea about the progress he’d made on things that evening. Greg snorted.

 

“Doubt that.”

 

“Have I ever sugar coated things for you?” Mycroft asked. “Why on Earth would I start now?”

 

“I just… didn’t know how to act. Bloody Elizabeth was in there, Mycroft. Good God.”

 

“Yes, I know.  We take tea together often.”

 

Greg burst out laughing.

 

“ _Seriously_!?” he asked, though it didn’t surprise him. “You’re mad, you are.”

 

He was dutifully rewarded with a hum of amusement and a kiss.


	277. After-Work Cuddles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loosely connected to and referencing Day 88 :)

Mycroft had always marveled at the man he had chosen to fall for.  Even more so than Gregory’s kind heart and gentle spirit, was the fact that Mycroft found himself surprised at the kind of thing he tolerated now that he most certainly never would have before. This was how the two of them ended up owning a cat.  Mycroft knew that the night the small animal had been brought home that it would become a permanent part of their home.  He had not said such to the older man at the time, letting his nurse the ill kitten that had been found at a crime scene in the pouring rain, but he knew there was no way he could make Gregory get rid of it once it had been brought home.

 

The kitten was a fluffy bundle of energy, with soft white fur and bright green eyes.  They had named him Remmington.  He was surprisingly better behaved than Mycroft had expected, and while he had tried scratching the sofa on more than one occasion, that had ceased a bit once they got a proper scratching post.  Two months into having Remmington and he had yet to mess with any of Mycroft’s clothing, and for the most part, stayed off the surfaces of tables and counters. The table in the sitting room was the exception, however.  He walked across that like he owned it.  Mycroft had given up trying to keep him off it two weeks in.

 

Finished with meetings for the day, Mycroft packed up his briefcase and nodded to the other politicians in the room, before walking out and climbing into the car waiting for him.  Anthea rode with him, handing over a file without more than a few words, before turning to her Blackberry.  They shared a few words during the drive, but nothing drawn out of course. Never was.

 

The car pulled up to his home shortly after, and he exchanged farewells with Anthea before climbing out and heading inside. He set down his briefcase and hung up his coat, listening to the sounds of the television on in the sitting room. He smiled softly to himself, stopping in the kitchen as he always did to put the kettle on.  Then, as he waiting for the water to boil, he walked through to the sitting room.

 

What he saw was Gregory stretched out along the sofa, one hand resting on his stomach and the other hanging off, his fingers hovering over the remote on the floor.  His ankles were crossed and his head was turned to the side, eyes closed and lips parted just slightly as he slept.  Mycroft leaned against the frame and crossed his arms, smiling. The smile grew a bit more once he noticed the white ball of fur curled up on his chest, where Remmington was also fast asleep.

 

Mycroft was growing rather fond of that cat. He also seemed to be fond of the two of them as well, though it helped that they were the ones who fed him daily. He stood there and admired the serene sight before him until the kettle began whistling, which stirred Remmington from his sleep, who raised his head and blinked over in the direction of the kitchen sleepily.

 

Mycroft tended to his tea, and remained in the kitchen while he drank it.  He read a few emails as he sipped the liquid; leaning against the counter, feeling considerably more relaxed now that he was home.  With one hand, he responded to the following day’s agenda, focusing on that until his teacup was empty.  He rinsed everything out and slid his mobile into his pocket, finally turning to head back into the sitting room again.

 

Gregory was still asleep, though Remmington was not. He was still stretched out along the sleeping man’s chest, though now he was cleaning his paws rather diligently. Carefully, Mycroft made his way over to the sofa and started to settle in next to his partner, fitting into the empty spot on the sofa a lot better than he thought he might. The movement caused Gregory to stir, and Remmington to stand, but as he settled in, so did the cat.

 

Mycroft lowered his head onto Gregory’s shoulder. He could tell the moment where the older man started to wake up, and though he couldn’t see it, he could hear the smile in the hum that sounded.

 

“Welcome home,” Gregory mumbled gently, shifting to settle a hand on Mycroft’s shoulder. “D’ya want dinner?”

 

“Shortly,” Mycroft replied, letting his eyes close for a moment. “For now, I would prefer us to remain like this.”

 

Gregory hummed again, clearly not awake enough yet, and Remmington was purring loudly.  It was all rather wonderful, and soothing, and Mycroft loved it.


	278. Good Night

Mycroft Holmes was clearly a creature of habit. Greg had figured that extremely early on in their acquaintance.  Not that it was surprising, knowing Sherlock, but Mycroft was a lot more methodical about it.  In his mannerisms, in the way he conducted his daily travels, in his work, in _everything_ , he had a rhythm.  Greg kinda loved it.

 

As they got to know each other better, moving past a professional relationship and become friends, they texted a bit more frequently.  Greg was pleased to find that, unlike his younger brother, Mycroft actually enjoyed texting. They would also send emails back and fourth, but only if they had a lot to say at one time (and that usually dove back into the professional side).  Otherwise, texting suited them just fine.

 

After a little while, they began telling each other good night before they would go to sleep.  Or sometimes, Mycroft would text good night after Greg had already fallen asleep.  Regardless, it became a very common thing.  Occasionally they would say good morning as well, but not nearly as much. Always good night, though...

 

It wasn’t until after the two of them had finally admitted their feelings for one another that Greg figured out why. The ‘good nights’ continued when they started dating, becoming a nightly thing.  Now, however, they had upgraded to phone calls.  Even better, of course, was when they were lying next to each other when they said it.  Every single night, they would wish each other good night.  As Mycroft had confided in him one evening, he had soon found that once they had started randomly saying it, on the nights they did not, he had an unsettling feeling throughout the whole night.  It was never something that interrupted his sleeping habits, he assured Greg, but it was all around a bizarre and uncomfortable sensation.

 

That had apparently been one of the things that made Mycroft realize he was in love with Greg.

 

Greg, who was head over heels for Mycroft too, began to realize the soothing effect those simple words had for him. It had been a rude awakening when Mycroft was away on a trip to Russia.  While he had been assured it was all meetings and paperwork, he had soon found out that there were quite a few elements of danger to it, and when Mycroft didn’t call or text good night… Greg didn’t sleep one wink that night. He was out of his mind with worry. For something that had gotten to be so consistent between them, and to know that he might be in harm’s way, and then for him not to contact Greg to say good night?  Mycroft Holmes, the creature of habit?  It had been bloody terrifying.

 

The issue had been nothing more than a heavy meeting and terrible cellular reception, but it had been the worst feeling. Greg couldn’t lose Mycroft, and that experience only solidified that realization for him. So, it became even more imperative.

 

Mycroft would almost always call. When he couldn’t call, he would text. Greg liked the calls more, though, especially when he was away for longer periods.  Getting to hear that wonderful, smooth voice say “Good night Gregory” helped him sleep at night.  Sometimes he would get these phone calls in the middle of his day, depending on where in the world Mycroft had been called to travel to.  He couldn’t count on both hands how many times he’d stepped away from a crime scene to hold their important five-minute conversation.

 

Greg opened his eyes as he felt the bed shift next to him, drawing him from his thoughts, and he smiled as Mycroft pressed close. Turning, he kissed the younger man’s shoulder and hummed as Mycroft carded his fingers through his hair.

 

“Good night, Gregory,” Mycroft whispered, and Greg grinned up at him.

 

“Good night, Mycroft,” he whispered in return, cupping his partner’s cheek and drawing him in for a slow kiss. It lasted for a few moments, and then they rubbed their noses together, before curling up and letting sleep take them over.

 

As always, Greg slept wonderfully.


	279. Panic Attack

It had been a long time since Greg had dealt with these sensations.  The tightness in his chest, the unexplainable panic surging through his mind, the numbing feeling that flooded his body.  He’d been no stranger to panic attacks when he was younger, for whatever reason. He’d never been able to figure it out, his parents had never been able to figure it out, but it had faded in time. As he became an older teenager they lessened, and by the time he’d gotten to uni they’d all but disappeared. Apart from the occasional one here and there when his stress level was incredibly high, they left him alone. Today, however, he’d had one building from the moment he got in the office that morning.

 

Everything was chaotic.  He was beyond stressed.  The case was fucked up, Sherlock had gone off and was now in a lot of trouble, John was freaking out, and it was too much.  They’d found two more bodies today – teenage girls – and it was _too much_. He’d barely been able to breathe properly since he’d gotten to the crime scene.  His couldn’t keep his mind sharp, which was the worst thing to happen when you were leading a case.  Now with Sherlock…

 

He was a bit too emotionally invested. But they were in too deep, and this was happening full force, and Sally didn’t say anything as she took point on some stuff.  This was partially why she was the best Sergeant he’d ever had.

 

With Sherlock getting involved and getting himself kidnapped, this now meant Mycroft was involved.  As was John, but that was really nothing new. John was on point with Sally currently, and Greg was holed up in an unused office near his, leaning on the table, vision swimming.

 

He didn’t hear the door open and shut behind him. He shut his eyes tight, feeling like he was suffocating, and clenched his hands into tight balls. A hand was on his shoulder. He jumped and whimpered, turning too quickly and wobbling a bit.  It was Mycroft, thank goodness, who had to have known within nothing more than a second what was going on.

 

“Breathe, Gregory,” he said, his voice soft and slow, in control.  Greg swallowed and bit his lip.

 

“I can’t,” he managed to say, his breath coming out in shallow huffs.  His arms were shaking, and he felt heat prickling at the sides of his eyes.

 

“You can,” Mycroft said, his voice not changing. It was deeper and slower than normal, and Greg couldn’t help but wonder if that was on purpose. He swallowed again as the younger man stepped forward and slid an arm around his shoulders, hesitating as if checking to make sure it was okay to do so.  When Greg didn’t protest or pull away, Mycroft was pulling him a bit closer. The warmth was actually rather comforting.

 

“Breathe in slowly,” Mycroft whispered, his hand rubbing along Greg’s back slowly.  Greg closed his eyes and tried. “That’s it, Gregory.  Five seconds… Now hold it for seven.  And breathe out for nine.  Slowly, Gregory, like that.  Good.”

 

Greg was still trembling, and he did his best, though he didn’t think he lasted the full nine seconds breathing out. He shut his eyes tight and reached up to grasp at Mycroft’s jacket tightly.

 

“Now do it again,” Mycroft instructed gently. Greg did.  It went a bit better this time, though not smoothly. He couldn’t stop thinking about Sherlock.  They needed to be looking for Sherlock.

 

“Gregory,” came Mycroft’s voice, a bit harder this time.  It made the older man blink and stare up at him.  His pale eyes were patient and soft, though. “Breathe.  Stop thinking about the case.  Stop thinking about Sherlock.  You were about to hyperventilate.  Breathe, like I said.  Breathe with me.”

 

Licking his lips, Greg pressed close, resting his cheek against Mycroft’s chest.  He closed his eyes again and tried focusing on Mycroft’s breathing. He was doing that exercise, Greg noticed, and slowly he joined in.  His own breaths were still unsteady for a bit, but _finally_ they began to even out.  A few tears had slid down his cheeks, and his heart was beating wildly, but the longer they breathed like that, the more everything seemed to dull.

 

Finally, his chest felt free and he wasn’t shaking anymore.  He continued to take deep breaths, until finally he straightened himself and rubbed at his eyes.

 

“Better?” Mycroft asked, hand resting on his shoulder. Greg nodded.

 

“Y-yeah,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair and glancing down. “Thanks.”

 

“Of course.  Let’s sit for a moment.”

 

“But Mycroft-“

 

“We are sitting,” Mycroft said, gently interrupting Greg’s protest. “We are going to get you centered, all right? Once you feel more like yourself, then we will join the rest.  Trust me, Gregory.”

 

Greg licked his lips and nodded. They sat down. Mycroft took Greg’s hands in his and rubbed gently with his thumbs.

 

“I trust you,” Greg whispered, voice still trembling, but heart beating normally.  Mycroft smiled.

 

“I know.”


	280. Getting A Replacement

“How do I know what to get?” Greg asked, huffing and crossing his arms as he stared at the selection of umbrellas in front of him.  Honestly, he didn’t understand how there could be so many different ones, at so many different price points. What in the hell made them so different??  Next to him, Sherlock snorted in derision, and Greg clenched his teeth.

 

“Just pick one, they’re all ridiculous and he will inevitably find a flaw in whatever you buy anyway,” the younger Holmes said dismissively, waving his hand in the air.

 

“Ta for that, way to boost a man’s confidence,” Greg grumbled.

 

In hindsight, maybe bringing Sherlock shopping with him for a new umbrella for Mycroft wasn’t the best idea in the world. He had thought – he had _hoped_ – that Sherlock could actually provide some insight beneficial to him on something that wasn’t related to a case. He had hoped that Sherlock’s inability to resist showing off would override the fact that this was for his brother.

 

Unfortunately, that didn’t quite happen. Either Sherlock didn’t know enough about the umbrellas and what Mycroft preferred to be of any help and just refused to admit it, or he really despised the man that much. Either way, it left Greg standing there, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

 

If he was honest with himself, he couldn’t help but think that maybe Sherlock was right.  Maybe whatever he bought would end up being subpar, no matter what kind or brand or style it was.  Maybe Mycroft got his umbrellas specialized, like his suits.  He’d honestly never thought to ask.  He had just… wanted to do this for him.  He’d wanted to surprise him.

 

His usual umbrella had gotten all but destroyed last week when he’d been working abroad.  Greg didn’t know all the details, but it didn’t matter really. What mattered was that Mycroft had been irritated about it ever since.  Amazingly enough, he hadn’t had the time to replace it yet. Greg had been sure that Anthea would go out the very next day and get a new one, but no such luck.

 

So here he was.

 

“Lestrade, we’ve been here for an hour,” Sherlock grumbled. “I’m incredibly bored.  Do you really not have a case for me?”

 

“No, stop asking,” Greg fussed.

 

“I have experiments I could be conducting.”

 

“Then _help me_ and you can go.”

 

Sherlock huffed dramatically, and Greg desperately tried not to roll his eyes.  It worked, however, and finally, a few moments later Sherlock was rambling off about the high quality and craftsmanship and highly compliment manufacture of one in the corner.  It was a bit higher-priced than Greg was immediately prepared for, but he had some spare money tucked away, so he bought it.

 

Sherlock practically fell out of his car when he’d pulled up to Baker Street, not offering Greg a single word as he disappeared inside. Not that Greg was expecting any different.  He shook his head, grinning, and just made his way home.

 

Mycroft hadn’t returned yet, so Greg did the very cheesy thing of tying a red bow around the handle.  He didn’t even care how stupid it looked. Then, he made tea, pulling down a second cup when he heard his partner’s car pulling up outside.

 

“Welcome home,” Greg grinned as Mycroft walked into the kitchen, looking tired but grateful to be where he was. They embraced, and then Greg was putting a teacup in Mycroft’s slender hands.

 

“Ready with tea?” Mycroft asked, raising his eyebrows, before lifting the cup and drinking slowly. “That is exquisite. Thank you, darling.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Greg smiled. They drank in comfortable silence, pressing close to each other.  It wasn’t until they were both done and the cups rinsed out that Greg spoke again.

 

“Got something else for you.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Stay right there.”

 

Mycroft nodded, eyeing Greg curiously but remaining in his spot as Greg walked out of the kitchen.  He wandered across the sitting room to where he’d leaned the umbrella up against the sofa.  Then, holding it behind his back with one hand, he went back into the kitchen.

 

“So, I know you’ve been frustrated over your umbrella and everything…” he started awkwardly, before realizing there was no way to word anything without ruining the surprise or sounding completely stupid. So instead, he just walked over and held the umbrella out.

 

Mycroft stared, pale eyes growing wide and lips parting slightly.  After a few moments, he slowly reached out and took the umbrella from Greg’s hands, lifting it up to peer at the handle carefully.

 

“Gregory, you didn’t have to,” he said, sounded a bit breathless and in awe.  It made Greg grin.

 

“I wanted to.  Plus, witnessing your reaction is the best reward for it.”

 

Hooking the umbrella around his arm, Mycroft strode forward and tugged Greg in for a passionate kiss.  The older man wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s neck, lifting up on his toes and returning the kiss in kind.

 

“It’s perfect,” Mycroft whispered against his lips. Greg smiled, nuzzling close.

 

“M’glad,” he replied, before decided it was time to stop talking and time to start kissing again.


	281. Morning Routine

Greg made sure to wake up with Mycroft almost every morning.  It didn’t matter that the younger man always had to be up and leaving their flat before Greg had to get down to the Yard.  He would wake up anyway.  It was nice to share some kisses and say goodbye for the day, but that wasn’t the only reason he got up with him.

 

Mycroft had a very strict morning routine. He stuck to it every single day, the same steps in the same order, and there was something amazing about that. It was methodical and exact, down to the minute.  Greg always had a habit of getting himself ready rather haphazardly, so witnessing these small rituals were fascinating and new to him.  They made perfect sense for Mycroft though, for the man _was_ methodical in everything he did.

 

Mycroft always woke up the moment his alarm went off, reaching over and turning it off instantly.  He sat up, reaching for his robe as he climbed out of bed, and headed to the bathroom.  He would relieve himself, much as Greg always needed to upon first waking too, and then he would shower.  After his shower, he would put his robe back on and go to the kitchen for a light breakfast. Tea was the first thing he prepared, without question.  He would sit at the table and enjoy a cup quietly, reading emails or occasionally the morning paper (even though he never actually _learned_ any news from the papers, because of who he was).  With his second cup, he would eat some toast or a croissant, or _maybe_ a muffin if they had them in the house.  He would usually only indulge in those if Greg baked them himself, though.

 

After eating he would pour a third cup of tea, but this one was brought back up to the bedroom for Greg.  He couldn’t pinpoint when Mycroft had decided to start bringing him tea in the morning, but it was the sweetest thing.  While Greg drank his tea, Mycroft would get back in bed, leaning against the headboard and reading some more things on his mobile or listening to Greg tell the morning’s cheesy jokes from the paper.  They’d share some kisses and embraces, Greg still warm and half asleep, and there would be some coaxing to stay that would always get declined (though reluctantly).  Greg never asked with the expectation that he would agree, but it became a fun, loving part of their morning banter.  Plus, more kisses.

 

Out of bed again, Mycroft would hang up his robe and walk over to the closet.  This was Greg’s favorite part.  Partially because it meant that his partner started off naked.  His breakfast was literally the only time Mycroft would wear his robe with nothing underneath, because he never put his pajamas back on after showering, but never got dressed beforehand either.

 

Greg always allowed his eyes to roam across the pale, gorgeous expanse of Mycroft’s body as he pulled on clean pants. Socks came next, lifting one leg at a time and keeping perfect balance as he pulled them on. Bloody impressive. Greg would fall on his arse if he tried doing that.  Then, he would turn back to the closet and pick out his suit of the day.

 

Dress shirt came first, tugged on and buttoned perfectly.  Cufflinks added when the occasion at work called for it.  His trousers came next.  Once he’d slipped into them, he tucked his dress shirt in, smoothing the fabric over a few times to ensure there were no wrinkles once it had all settled. Then, of course, the waistcoat came after.  He always pulled it on, but did not button it yet.  Instead, he pulled out the tie he’d chosen to match and stepped over to their mirror, tilting his chin up as he tied it in a perfect knot in seconds. Once it was smoothed out and adjusted, he would press it flat against his torso and then button up his waistcoat to keep it in place.

 

Greg always liked to get out of bed and wander over to him at that point.  He enjoyed taking a moment to admire the ensemble a bit more closely, complete with kisses and gentle touches.  He would step away after a moment, letting Mycroft complete it with the jacket he would pull on over of everything, and button the two bottom buttons at that time.

 

 

Greg loved watching that man get dressed. The only thing he loved more was being the one to peel each perfect layer off of him at the end of the day. Sure, it always meant waking up a bit early, and Greg wasn’t really a morning person, but he’d learned early on that it was more than worth it.


	282. Tan Waistcoat of Sex

Greg loved the assortment of suits Mycroft owned. He loved how, for the longest time, every time he saw Mycroft he was wearing a new suit.  They were endless.  It took quite a while before it got to the point where he would start to recognize any of the suits he would wear on a normal basis.  There were different colors, styles, and trims. Greg easily preferred the suits that hugged the younger man’s curves closer than some of the others. Gorgeous.

 

For the longest time he liked the pinstripe suits the best. There was something about all those thin lines that just brought out every curve Mycroft had. Greg could admire the man forever, and he hoped he would get to.  He was amazingly attractive.  Damn beautiful, even. Yeah, the pinstripe suits… Yeah.

 

That was, until this one tan waistcoat had come along. It had been a newer purchase, one Mycroft had gotten specifically for a conference he’d gone out of the country to attend, and when he came home in it… Greg just stared.  He couldn’t put words to why.  It was a waistcoat, like a lot of his other waistcoats, cut to him perfectly and settled against his sides.  It was the same smooth kind of material that he tended to favor, and the actual cut and stitch was basically the same as well.

 

So what about it was so ridiculously sexy?

 

Greg couldn’t figure it out.  But that waistcoat turned his insides to jelly and made him want to jump the damn man.  Christ. It had amused Mycroft, puzzling him as to why this specific one caused such a reaction, and Greg couldn’t explain it, so he decided to show him instead.  It partially had something to do with how long he’d been away, but there was definitely something about that waistcoat.

 

“So it’s his waistcoat of sex,” John said over pints one night.  Greg had blinked, thinking about it, before busting out into loud laughter.  Exactly how many had they had to cause that kind of comment??

 

“Do _what_ now?!” he sputtered, holding his drink tightly so he didn’t knock it over.

 

“You know… that article of clothing that drives you wild,” John was explaining, waving one of his hands in a small circle in the air. “His tan waistcoat of sex.  Sherlock’s got one – that dark purple shirt?  Christ.”

 

“Yeah okay, didn’t quite need to know _that_ ,” Greg chuckled, leaning over and elbowing John. He had a feeling he knew just what shirt John was talking about, and he didn’t think he’d be able to look at Sherlock at crime scenes seriously the next time he wore it. His mate snorted as he nursed his pint.

 

“Just like I don’t need your imagine of the waistcoat of sex,” he countered pointedly. “But here we are.”

 

His tan waistcoat of sex.  It was a bizarre phrase, for certain, but there was an insanely accurate truth to it that Greg couldn’t ignore.  Yeah, that is definitely what it was.  The term had a nice ring to it, really.  It amused him to no end.  Maybe he was tipsy enough to think it was a good idea, but he decided from that moment on that was the name for it.  Of course, when Mycroft strode in that same night wearing the exact article of clothing in question, Greg’s grin got so wide it hurt his cheeks.

 

Even while Mycroft was still wearing his jacket, Greg could tell when that waistcoat was being worn.  Just a peek at the material and he knew instantly. It was another thing he couldn’t explain.  He had no idea _why_ that one was so easily noticeable compared to the others.  He apparently amused Mycroft to no end.

 

“What’s so funny?” he asked, raising his eyebrows as he walked over.

 

“You’re wearing your tan waistcoat of sex,” Greg said easily, standing and walking over to him.  Brown eyes glanced down to the buttons of Mycroft’s jacket, where his hands moved up to undo them and push the article off his shoulders so he could admire it fully.

 

“My what?” Mycroft asked, a shocked laugh bubbling out of him.  Greg shook his head.

 

“Nuthin,” he dismissed, running his hands down Mycroft’s sides before pulling him close and mouthing his jaw.

 

“Gregory…” Mycroft gasped gently. “I don’t quite understand what about this specific waistcoat gets this kind of reaction from you. It’s immensely infuriating. And puzzling.”

 

“I don’t know either,” Greg muttered, hooking their legs together carefully as they stood, both of them huffing out a breath as their bodies were flush against the other. “But let me show you just how hot and bothered it gets me.”

 

“Bedroom,” Mycroft said.  Greg nodded.

 

“Wear the waistcoat tonight,” he requested, as they swiftly made their way to the bedroom. “ _Just_ the waistcoat.”


	283. One Too Many Deductions

The party was ridiculous.  It was putting Sherlock into even more of a sour mood than usual, but he dealt with it because John had wanted it.  He wanted this ridiculous Christmas party, with all its’ over-the-top decorations and dull music and wine and _friends_. There had been mention of a 221B tradition or something, he hadn’t fully been listening.  Not where there was flesh decay to be recording.

 

Now here they were, in their flat, surrounded by people.  Molly had come, bringing some new boyfriend of hers – he was a bit clueless, worked for a fashion designer mainly because he failed at his original goal of being a gymnast (fell off a high beam and injured his shoulder, hip, unable to get into Olympics, settling for second best and doing a rather poor job at it). Mrs. Hudson was there, naturally, wearing a new perfume bought for her by a man attempting courtship but being far to confusing about it for her to properly pick up the signals (she believes him to be a homosexual).  Sarah had come, though Sherlock had no idea why John had wanted to invite her.

 

_“We’re still friends, Sherlock, of course I’d like to invite her,” John had said over his tea that evening.  Sherlock had merely grunted and returned to the chemicals he’d been mixing._

 

She, of course, had hardly said more than two words to him.  Avoiding him, naturally, a hint of jealousy there even though she insisted she was over the relationship they had once had with each other.  Sherlock had still, as he always did, won that battle.

 

Lestrade showed up a bit later. He’d clearly stayed late at the Yard, completing paperwork (dull) and meeting up with someone before going home to change (even more dull).  Almost right after his arrival, came Mycroft.  This was the worst part of the evening.  The fact that John had invited him while not expecting him to show had been foolish, and Sherlock had said so right away.  It was something he even insisted on reminding his dear doctor (Boyfriend? Lover? Words John kept suggesting but he hadn’t decided which he preferred) of.  Well, once again, he was right.

 

“Don’t you have countries to rule and people to have cower before you, Mycroft?” he asked, snapping sarcastically a bit after his arrival.  He was given the same annoying, false patience Sherlock felt like he’d grown up with, and he wanted to wipe that bloody smug expression off his face.

 

“John invited me,” he commented casually, and it only made Sherlock even more irritable. “It would have been rude of me to ignore such a gracious request.”

 

“Yes, because you’ve never done so before. You’d rather start World War Three than truly socialize for an evening.” Sherlock rolled his eyes.

 

“Brother mine, I do believe that’s what they say as… the pot calling the kettle black,” Mycroft hummed, leaning against his umbrella a bit.  Sherlock growled, going onto the defense and eagerly looking for ways to ruffle his brother’s feathers.

 

“I see you’ve gained weight again,” he started.

 

“That again,” Mycroft sighed, shaking his head. “You’re becoming disappointingly predictable, Sherlock.”

 

“But not from sweets,” Sherlock continued, trying to ignore the obvious attempt to rile him up more. “You’re eating meals more regularly.  Someone is clearly cooking for you, and the meals are complete, not just tea and biscuits while you stare at your ridiculous CCTV footages at every hour of the night.”

 

Mycroft was silent, watching Sherlock with a challenging eye.  It got his adrenaline pumping.

 

“You are also sleeping more.  The look in your eyes is not as strained, forcing back the tired look that has never done anything for you on an attraction level. You are much to dull and addicted to running the world to decide to start sleeping more on your own, so obviously you have something – or someone - making you go to bed, or at least making it more tolerable of a possibility.”

 

“Indeed,” Mycroft confirmed.  Sherlock felt himself smirking.

 

“You are having sex.”

 

“Quite a lot, in fact,” Mycroft smirked. “I’m surprised it took you so long to notice.  You are slipping, Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock glared, turning away and stomping off with a growl, ignoring the smug smirk on his damn brother’s face. He weaved through the flat to where John was – in the kitchen getting Lestrade a drink.

 

“I _told_ you, John, and you didn’t believe me, I told you he would come and it’s infuriating,” he started, stopping as he eyed up the detective inspector.

 

“Sherlock,” the man nodded in greeting, smiling as John handed him a beer.

 

“Lestrade,” Sherlock replied, voice lifting in the way that both men in the room with him could tell what was about to take place. John just sighed. Lestrade looked almost amused. “You had quite a bounce to your step as you walked in the flat, much more than your normally lazy, oafish way of walking.”

 

“Oi,” the man protested with irritation, but not much heat.  It didn’t deter Sherlock, of course.

 

“Even with your morning being filled with a case you seem to find stressful – even though I told you days ago it was the caretaker and you still insist of going through all these protocols – and your afternoon filled with paperwork – which you had to start over when you spilled coffee on a page, and got two paper cuts on your left hand before you were done… you walked in like you felt a good twenty years younger.  A bit hopeful, and possibly delusional, I admit, but regardless… Something good is going for you, something that’s giving you bizarrely constant optimism.  You are obviously getting laid, for you look disgustingly _glowing_ , as one might say, and you-“

 

Sherlock froze.  He blinked rapidly, his streams of thought coming to a screeching halt. Lestrade was looking at him expectantly, a slight smirk on his face.  Sherlock’s eyes widened and his lips parted as he groaned.

 

“Oh good GOD,” he said dramatically, succeeding in getting the attention of everyone in the flat.

 

“Sherlock,” John said softly, touching his arm. Sherlock hardly noticed it.

 

“You are shagging my brother?!” he said instead, causing Lestrade to gape.

 

“Well good show, announcing it to the world, you bastard,” the man growled, taking a swig of his beer. “Hadn’t quite been ready to pull that plug with people.”

 

“Oh come now, Gregory, we both knew this was a possibility before coming over tonight,” came Mycroft’s voice. Sherlock had no idea when he’d entered the kitchen, but all he could see was the way his brother touched the inspector’s arm intimately.  He shuddered, spun on his heels, and went straight into his bedroom.

 

He had deductions to delete.


	284. Horror Films

“C’mon Myc, please?” Greg asked gently, tilting his head to the side and reaching over to take the younger man’s hand and tug gently. “It’ll be fun.”

 

“Nothing about what you’re suggesting sounds fun, Gregory,” Mycroft said, raising an eyebrow and glancing down at their joined hands.

 

“But it’s almost Halloween!  It’s time to get in the mood!!”

 

“I really don’t see how one would want to get in the mood,” Mycroft sighed, shaking his head.

 

“Oh come on,” Greg said with a slight bounce. “Horror films. Let’s do it.  We can have a good cuddle while we watch.”

 

There was silence as Mycroft let the words sink in. Greg loved horror movies, and he loved this time of year for them.  It was the middle of October and he had always started watching a few horror films every weekend.  There was something so great about it.  Though, he’d kinda always been a bit of a horror film buff.  It wasn’t a genre they really talked about, but Mycroft did know that he liked some of the more classic types (Vincent Price, black and white, all of that), so he was hoping that would be enough leverage to get the man to join him.

 

“Very well,” Mycroft finally agreed, and Greg almost cheered in his excitement.  He threaded their fingers together and wandered over through the sitting room. Mycroft went to sit on the sofa, while Greg made his way to their DVD shelf and began browsing the choices. He hadn’t decided what he wanted to watch yet…

 

“We can’t just watch House on Haunted Hill?” Mycroft asked after a few moments.  Greg chuckled softly.

 

“Nah, come on, we’ve both seen it tons of times,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “Let’s watch something newer, something you haven’t seen yet.  I’m just trying to narrow it down.”

 

“Newer ones just seem so absurd.”

 

“There are a lot that definitely are. But there are great ones too. What do you think of slasher?”

 

“What, the ones with promiscuous and drunk teenagers who make the same mistakes over and over in every film and get very graphically murdered?  No, I’m quite all right on that tonight.”

 

Greg bit back a laugh at hearing his explanations. Amazing.  So that was a no to slasher movies.  Moving on.

 

“Okay, so… There’s those, ah, found footage kind of films.”

 

“Mmm, perfect for motion sickness and hearing lots of crying.  _Wonderful_.”

 

“Okay Mr. Sarcasm,” Greg snorted. “Monster?”

 

“If we are watching something newer, than whatever the monster is will clearly be computer-generated, which takes away any charm a monster film once had.”

 

“You’re a fussy bastard,” Greg said, glancing back at Mycroft again.  His grin said he was teasing, and the younger man merely shrugged.

 

“As you have always been aware, Gregory.”

 

“Fine, how about something more paranormal, ah, supernatural?” he suggested, glancing at a few of the ones he own that he practically loved. “Ya know, possessions and exorcisms and stuff?  I’ve got a few real good ones here.”

 

“By real good ones, do you mean ones that don’t make the possessee’s head turn completely around?”

 

“Yes,” Greg nodded, laughing brightly. “Though I’ve got that too, if you’d prefer.”

 

“No, I think I’d rather not,” Mycroft said, shaking his head. “Something in the paranormal, however, sounds doable.”

 

“We have a winner,” Greg announced with a nod, turning back to his shelf and kneeling to where he had some along those lines. Those were the ones he had the most of, as they were really his favorite subgenre.  Carrie, The Messengers, Paranormal Activity, Rosemary’s Baby, Sinister, Mama, Insidious… To name a few.

 

He just loved American horror films, okay?

 

“Okay,” he announced, pulling one out. “This one’s kinda newer.  Fucking love it. It’s just brilliant.”

 

He put it in, setting the case down and wandering over to curl up on the sofa with Mycroft.  The younger man asked what they were watching but Greg just shook his head. Nope, he could let the title screen reveal that for him.

 

He hit play and snuggled close, humming as Mycroft wrapped an arm around him.  He pressed his cheek against his partner’s chest, curling their feet together loosely, and settling one of his hands on Mycroft’s stomach.  Soon, the sequences started, and Greg was already getting excited.

 

“The Conjuring?” Mycroft asked once the title came up. Greg nodded against him.

“Oh yeah.  It’s amazing.  Plus, Patrick Wilson’s not bad eye candy.”

 

Greg looked up to see Mycroft giving him a curious, pointed look, and he laughed.  Popping up, he gave the man a quick kiss, grinned, and then nuzzled back in. He was enthralled and in suspense, just like the first time he’d watched it, and if Mycroft jumped under him a few times or tightened his grip on Greg’s shoulder, he said nothing about it.


	285. Late Night Comfort

Mycroft woke as the bed shifted next to him, and he blinked himself awake to see that he was alone in the bedroom. Brow furrowing, he pushed himself to sit up, listening for his partner.  Gregory had felt off all afternoon, and Mycroft didn’t ask him about it. He didn’t need to, of course, because he knew exactly why.  He’d been working a very difficult case and they’d been unable to prevent yet another death during it. This was the fifth body so far, and it was taking its toll on the Detective Inspector.

 

Mycroft had always been able to read the older man. He could tell that Gregory didn’t want to talk about it.  Not yet, anyway. It was clear that he was not able to sleep either, however.  He couldn’t help but be concerned.  Gregory needed his sleep, because he was closer to figuring all of this out, but already it was haunting him in a way he usually had much more control over.

 

He waited for a bit, listening to see if Gregory was coming back, but after ten minutes or so had passed, it became clear he wasn’t coming back to bed.  At least, not for a while, anyway.  So, Mycroft slid out of bed and pulled on his robe, tying it securely around him and heading out of the bedroom himself.  He immediately noticed two lights that were on in their home.  The kitchen, and the office Gregory usually worked in.

 

Slowly, Mycroft made his way towards the office. Still lingering behind a corner, he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall as the older man came into view. He had assumed he would find Gregory like this, as it was one of the ways he usually dealt with not being able to sleep (especially when it was because of a case).  A while ago, the man had attached a bar to the top of the door, and used it to do a series of push-ups until he made himself tired enough to sleep.

 

It was extremely attractive to watch. Seeing the way Gregory’s arms flexed, listening to his heavy breathing as he exercised, and the way his face looked focused and somewhat serene at the same time… Mycroft loved it. It was very conflicting, because all he wanted to do was comfort his partner.  It was the least he could do.  However, he remained out of sight, standing and watching for a while, before making up his mind.

 

He pushed off the wall and turned, walking down the hall and heading into the kitchen.  He grabbed the kettle that had been set aside from earlier and filled it with water, turned the burner on, and set it to boil.  He could still hear Gregory breathing in the background, quiet and steady a few rooms over.  He got down one of the favors of tea he knew his partner preferred, and after a moment of hesitation, also pulled down a small container of honey.  They usually only added honey to tea when one of them was ill, but he had a feeling it would be a soothing addition and was exactly what he needed right now.

 

When the kettle went off, Mycroft plucked it up quickly.  It still whistled, but not for very long.  Not that he was trying to keep this a secret, being away and all.  He poured the tea, added the honey, and mixed it, sipping it briefly to make sure it was how Gregory preferred.  Then, lifting it in both hands and cupping it securely, he strode back through their home and made his way back to the office.

 

“Gregory,” he said softly as he came into view. Gregory stopped, hanging off the bar, his forehead glistening with a bit of sweat.

 

“You made tea?” he asked, eyebrows raising as he let go of the bar and dropped onto the floor.

 

“Seemed like it would aid you. Come back to bed?”

 

Greg chewed on his bottom lip, clearly hesitating, but nodded and reached over to take the cup from Mycroft’s grip. They slowly walked back into the bedroom together, and as they sat down, Mycroft lifted his arm so Gregory could press into him comfortably.  The man drank his tea silently, sighing a bit as he soaked in its warmth, and Mycroft rubbed his arm slowly.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, glancing over at Gregory, watching the way he stared down into his almost empty cup.

 

“I just… It takes its’ toll, Myc,” Gregory sighed, his voice timid. “So many victims…”

 

“I know, Gregory.  It must be difficult.  You are so close, though, and think about the many lives you _have_ saved.”

 

Mycroft never felt like he was good at comforting, but with Gregory, he always wanted to try.  He wanted to return the favor.  The older man was always there for him, and somehow always knew what to say or do to make Mycroft feel better when everything was too much. It was the least he could do. He did love this man, after all.

 

Greg sighed, biting his lip again and turning into Mycroft’s body after setting down his cup.  Mycroft could feel his shoulders shaking, and he could hear him sniffing. Closing his eyes, he wrapped his arms around Gregory and held him tightly.  He only hoped that getting a workout, drinking his tea, and lying with Mycroft would make him feel better.  He hoped it would help him sleep.  Mycroft hated hearing Gregory crying, but… he would just be here any way he could. Anything he could do.


	286. Invited to Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> teen AU

Greg’s parents were making Mycroft come to dinner. The punky teen was, honestly, horrified. He loved his parents, of course, and his older brother and younger sister were… tolerable, but _still_.  Bringing your boyfriend around your whole family was anyone’s nightmare. Emily had been bouncing around him the entire time he got dressed, excited to meet her brother’s boyfriend, and making it very well known.

 

“Ems, come on, chill out yeah?” he couldn’t help but laugh, fussing with his hair and adding a bit of styling gel. “I need someone to be chill, because you _know_ how mum and dad are gonna be.”

 

“Oh yeah,” she grinned. “It’ll be embarrassing.”

 

“Thanks, Ems,” Greg sighed, listening to his sister giggle as she wandered out of his bedroom.  He sighed, chewing on his lip nervously.  He’d met Mr. and Mrs. Holmes already, and been in their home, met his little brother Sherlock… Greg’s own family was so different from Mycroft’s, and he wasn’t sure what the other teen would be expecting.

 

Thankfully though, dinner went… okay? Greg had met Mycroft at the door with a happy smile, tugging him inside and taking advantage of their brief moment of privacy to kiss him sweetly, before they were interrupted and unable to have a moment’s peace for a few hours after.

 

His older brother Russell immediately wanted to play twenty questions, regardless of how often Greg glared and hissed at him to shut up.  Emily didn’t say a word, but continued to stare in adoration over at him, grinning. Mycroft seemed to handle it all well, making easy conversation with Russell even though he wouldn’t stop asking damn questions.  It was like his brother really hadn’t believed Greg when he’d said they were dating. Granted, they were a rather unlikely pair, but _still_. He could stop with the disbelief and awe, thank you very much.

 

His parents were no better.  They kept doting on Mycroft quite heavily. Da was insanely friendly, which was uncommon when it came to any of his kid’s friends, and mum was… Well, god, she was practically cooing over him and seeming like she wanted to embrace him every chance she had.  By the time she brought out dessert and was patting the back of Mycroft’s head, complimenting him, Greg groaned and wanted to crawl in a hole.

 

“ _Mum_ ,” he huffed, rubbing at his face.  His mum just gave him a look, shaking her head and continuing to dish out desserts. Somehow, Mycroft still didn’t seem bothered by it all.  Greg had no idea how. Finally, though, everyone was done eating and somehow his siblings were convinced to go away.  Of course, his parents lingered, his mum continuing to pull Mycroft into conversations that the younger teen kept up with very well, while Greg fidgeted in his seat.

 

It took forever for Greg to finally pull Mycroft away. If he had to listen to his parents vocally adore Mycroft in front of him for much longer he would just die. So, grabbing his boyfriend’s hand, he gently tugged him through the flat and to his bedroom, where he shut the door and sighed as they were finally alone.

 

“Sorry,” he groaned, rubbing his face and practically falling onto his bed. “That was mortifying.”

 

“Nonsense,” Mycroft said lightly, and Greg felt the bed dip as he sat down as well. “You have a lovely family.”

 

“God, they couldn’t leave you alone for five minutes! They’re always bugging me about you but I never imagined they’d bug **you** about you.”

 

“Really Gregory, it’s fine,” Mycroft said, shaking his head and placing a hand on his knee.  The older teen sighed and glanced over at him.

 

“Still.  I know it’s just… so different, and it’s… God they embarrass me so much.”

 

“They love you,” Mycroft said, his voice soft and lovely.  Greg wanted to kiss him. “They clearly think we are quite good together, and they wanted to show their approval whole-heartedly.  It’s a wonderful trait to have within a family, and the warmth at that dinner table was absolutely charming.  I thoroughly enjoyed it.”

 

“You’re not just saying that?” Greg muttered, eyeing Mycroft skeptically.

 

“Since when would I ever _just_ say something?” the younger teen returned, arching an eyebrow pointedly. Greg chuckled.

 

“Fair enough.”

 

“Stop worrying,” Mycroft said, squeezing his knee. “I am glad to have been invited and so well-received by your entire family. It would have been very disconcerting otherwise.  It is clear you are all very close.”

 

“I knew they’d love you,” Greg whispered, smiling. He cupped Mycroft’s cheek and drew him in for a kiss. “Can you stay?”

 

“For a while,” Mycroft nodded.

 

“Mmmm.  Good.”

 

Greg drew Mycroft in for another kiss, pulling him closer as they leaned back against the bed, curling up together. They kissed for as long as their lungs would allow, touching gently and just enjoying getting to be alone together finally.  For as much as Greg loved his family, they were still embarrassing, and even more so, quite overbearing. The privacy was perfect.


	287. Helping With Cravings

Greg was fidgety.  _Fuck_ he was so fidgety. This was a lot harder than he had prepared himself for.  He knew it would be hard; no amount of nicotine patches could really help when you went cold turkey, but god fucking _damnit_ he was buzzing with frustrated energy and he wanted a bloody cigarette. The day had been stressful, more than one person had decided to yell at him for ridiculous things, Sherlock was being even more grating than normal (even though he was part of the reason Greg had stopped, the cock), and it was all converging against him in the most awful of ways.

 

He was sitting out on the balcony of his and Mycroft’s shared home, hunched over in a chair with his elbows on his knees. He stared out at the night of London, listening to the sounds and feeling the breeze rustling his hair. He chewed on his bottom lip. His knee bounced with pent-up energy. He absently picked at the edge of one of the patches he’d slapped on his arm earlier.  It gave his fingers something to do, something that was not holding a cigarette, which he wanted so bad he could scream.

 

He wanted to give in.  He wanted to say ‘fuck everything’ and smoke one. Just one.  _Something_. He knew, though, in the still-rational part of his mind, that it would not be just one.  It would start as one, and then he would be sneaking fags from officers at the Yard, and then it would just be one pack he’d buy on his way to work…

 

He couldn’t have just one.

 

This was why he continued to torture himself.

 

Slumping down in the chair, Greg groaned and gripped his hair, taking deep breaths as he tried to let the stress of the day seep out of him.  Sherlock was just being Sherlock, and he really couldn’t expect any less.  At least the younger Holmes had made a break in the case. There was that. Letting his hands fall, he brought one up to his mouth where he began running the pads of his fingers back and fourth across his bottom lip.  He sighed.

 

“Having a rough evening, I see,” came the smooth voice that caused Greg’s insides to flutter.  A calm washed over him almost instantly, and it was something he was still in awe over.  No human being had ever had an effect on him quite like Mycroft.  Drawing his hand away, where he had started chewing on the pad of his finger a bit, he blinked and glanced up at his partner with a soft smile.

 

“I can only guess the insane number of ways you could tell,” he said in way of answer.  Mycroft gazed at him sympathetically, pulling a chair over to sit next to him. Their knees brushed and Mycroft reached out, brushing a stray curl off the older man’s head.  Greg closed his eyes and leaned closer to the touch, sighing a bit.

 

“It’s time to compartmentalize,” Mycroft said after a beat of silence, still running his slender fingers through Greg’s hair. “Like we talked about.”

 

“Easier said than done, I can’t quite build a bloody Mind Palace,” Greg huffed, frowning and staring up at the sky. He was trying not to come across as snappy to Mycroft, for the younger man had done absolutely nothing wrong. He was just irritable. The only comfort he took out of it, though, was the fact that Mycroft was well aware of that. He’d been through this exact thing when he’d quit smoking too.

 

“You don’t need a Mind Palace,” Mycroft chuckled, shaking his head and smiling gently.  Greg glanced over, focusing on that smile.  It tugged one out of him too. “I’m not suggesting you become more like my brother, Gregory, dear lord.”

 

Greg bust out in a short bit of laughter at that. He huffed, running one of his own hands through his hair now, and leaning against the arm of his chair. He crossed his legs, the edge of his foot brushing Mycroft’s ankle briefly.

 

“So come on, then,” he prompted, waving at him vaguely. “Let’s hear it.”

 

“We are both guilty of bringing work home with us,” Mycroft said, leaning in as well.  Greg could practically feel his breath on his cheek.  He licked his lips, chewing at it again absently. “You just need to simply not.  And yes, I am aware, it is never that simple.  But this is why tonight, you are going to teach me how to bake a red velvet cake.”

 

Greg straightened, blinking and gaping. Mycroft’s eyes flashed in amusement.

 

“I’m going to _what?_ ”

 

“Instruct me on how to bake a red velvet cake. From scratch.  Come now, I brought home all the proper ingredients.”

 

Mycroft stood, practically tugging a still baffled Greg with him.  It didn’t take long once they were in the kitchen, though, for the plan to work without the older man even realizing it.  What started out as instructing (and he was the one instructing for once, bloody hell) turned into laughter and jokes and an adorably confused Mycroft. If they got a bit fun and messy (and yeah, a little intimate too) with the icing and got it all over each other’s faces and necks, then well… It only made the unexpected experience ten times more brilliant.


	288. Making Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> teen AU~

“ _Sometimes I give myself the creeps_.”

 

Greg poured himself into the lyrics, mentally and physically, to keep his mind focused.

 

“ _Sometimes my mind plays tricks on me_.”

 

He would’ve bailed tonight if they hadn’t been a lock in.  If they hadn’t been given this opportunity.  This exposure. This wasn’t a normal gig. There were big heads in this crowd.

 

“ _It all keeps adding up, I think I’m cracking up._ ”

 

Sweat pouring down his face, Greg focused on the set; on their songs, on the covers (make Billie Joe fuckin’ _proud_ , Greg), on anything he could.

 

_“Am I just paranoid?  Am I just stoned?”_

He did that as he tried not to focus on his boyfriend standing in the crowd.  His boyfriend that he hadn’t seen in four days.  His boyfriend who had stood there as Greg packed up a few night’s worth of things, the two of them in the middle of the worst fight they’d had, and did nothing except turn his chin up as he walked out the door of their flat.

 

He hadn’t expected Mycroft to actually show. The younger teen had been coming to his gigs pretty regularly now, after being convinced to come the first few times. It turned out that he enjoyed the shows, even if the crowd wasn’t one he was used to.  It meant a lot to Greg every time he was there, which was almost every time now.  But after their fight? Big gig or not, Greg had mentally prepared himself to have the venue absent of the older Holmes brother.

 

He couldn’t get distracted.  He had to ignore the tightness in his chest, and the overwhelming urge to throw down the microphone and dive off this stage. He wasn’t mad anymore. He missed Mycroft. He wanted to come home. He wanted to hug him and kiss him and sleep in the same bed as him again.

 

By the end of the set, though, his hopes came crashing to a halt.  Mycroft was gone. As their last song came to a close, Greg scanned the crowd for that familiar dark ginger head, and nothing. His heart sank. Well, so much for that. Maybe he’d call him later…

 

They focused on breaking down everything when it was over, mingling a bit and having a couple of drinks.  They actually talked with the scouts that were there, and Greg threw on his charm and smile, even though they weren’t anywhere near as genuine as normal.  His band mates knew. Thankfully, the scouts didn’t seem to notice.

 

“I’m gonna grab a smoke,” he muttered to the rest of the band after, hooking a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to the door that led to the back alley. “I’ll help carry shit out when I get back.”

 

Shoving his hands in the pockets of the leather jacket he’d thrown on, he shuffled outside, shivering slightly as the cool air hit the skin on the back of his neck, which was still damp with sweat. He fumbled with a fag, cupping a hand over it in order to get it lit, and took a long drag.  He sighed, slumping against the brick wall behind him, and stared up at the cloudy night sky.  As he was fiddling absently with the tongue piercing he’d gotten a few months back, he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye.

 

“Gregory,” came Mycroft’s voice, soft and even. Greg closed his eyes, taking another long drag before risking a glance in his direction.  His heart was pounding.

 

“I thought you left,” he managed to say, swallowing and flicking ash onto the dirty concrete.

 

“You were very good tonight,” Mycroft said instead of replying to the comment.  Greg shrugged.

 

“Yeah I guess.”

 

He flicked some more ash on the ground, chewing on his bottom lip nervously.  Now that they were here, and Greg had this opportunity, he didn’t know what to say. Wanting to just go and kiss Mycroft didn’t seem so easy now.  He frowned, a somewhat awkward silence settling between them for a few minutes, until…

 

“I miss you.”

 

“Gregory, I miss you.”

 

Greg jerked his head up, blinking as they spoke in sync with each other.  Had Mycroft just…? He chuckled nervously, scratching at the back of his head and pushing off the wall.  He dropped his cigarette and stubbed it out with the heel of his Chuck Taylors, before letting himself walk across the alley and over to Mycroft.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, reaching over and cupping Mycroft’s cheek.  The younger teen leaned into the touch, and gave him a genuine smile that made his stomach flutter.

 

“Come home, Gregory,” Mycroft said, turning to press a kiss into his palm. “The flat doesn’t… _feel_ right without you there.”

 

“I haven’t been sleeping right without you next to me,” Greg muttered, stepping closer.

 

“Come home,” Mycroft repeated, pressing a hand flat against Greg’s chest as the distance between them was completely closed.

 

“Yes please,” Greg whispered against Mycroft’s lips as they kissed.


	289. Vatican Cameos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by SpinnerOfSpiels a little while ago! Hope this fills what you had in mind, dear! <3

The day had been difficult.  Exhausting and annoying, more than anything. The fact that these men thought they could come into his home, into his study, and hold a gun to his head was almost laughable.  Perhaps he should be a little more perturbed than he was.  But really, these men thought they had a plan?  They were dealing with Mycroft Holmes.

 

Men were already on the way.  Never mind the fact that he had at least three men on security, within eyesight but invisible, at all times.  The only reason these intruders were still standing was because Mycroft was extracting information from them as well.  It was always so amusing how much men spilled when they thought they had won.  They clearly did not know who they were dealing with whatsoever if they were so cocky.

 

“Enough stallin’!” one of the men snarled, waving his gun around, his accent so uneducated it was laughable. Mycroft regarded him coolly. “You know ‘e’s just playin’ for time.  Prolly got some sort of trip wire, let’s just finish this.”

 

Mycroft raised his eyebrows, lips parted as he prepared to speak, when a noise was heard on the other side of his home that actually had the man frozen.  _Damnit_.  Whoever was running his security currently was most likely getting fired.

 

Gregory had just walked in the door.

 

Apparently today was the one day the fates aligned and decided to allow his partner off work early.  He hadn’t been due home for another four hours. Everything would have been cleaned up by then, with no trace there was ever an intrusion, but now… Mycroft had to improvise.  Good thing he was always prepared for such a task.

 

“Who is that?” another man asked, pressing the cool barrel of his gun flat against the back of Mycroft’s head. It made him shiver, more from the metal than fear.

 

“That is Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade,” he answered honestly.  There was movement and a click. “He’s my partner.  Honestly.”

 

He had to bite his tongue to keep from calling the men daft.  They had automatically assumed Gregory had been called in on official capacity and had been ready to shoot him.  Had it not been a point against him, he would have rolled his eyes in exasperation. He watched as one of the men strode across the room, pressing against the wall next to the door, poised.

 

“If he comes in here, he’s dead,” the man behind him threatened.  Mycroft didn’t doubt it.  He had to keep Gregory out, or at least… warn him somehow.

 

“Myc?” he heard the older man call. Mycroft straightened his posture and sucked in a breath.  The gun pressed harder into his head.

 

“Tip ‘im off and you’re both dead,” the dimwit man threatened.  As if Mycroft wasn’t already aware.  Exhausting.

 

“In my study, Gregory,” he called out calmly, as if it were any normal night. “I’m on a conference call with the Vatican, I will be out momentarily.”

 

There was a beat of silence.  Mycroft hoped that Gregory had already begun to catch on to what was happening.  He was dating a smart man, he had confidence that he’d figure it out fairly quickly.

 

“The Vatican?” Gregory asked, his voice a bit closer. The men in the room tensed, as if ready to act irrationally.  Mycroft fought the urge to stiffen in his chair.

 

“Indeed,” he confirmed instead, picking up on the slightly confused and wary sound of his partner’s voice.  Perfect.  He knew. “You recall our conversation last week about these negotiations, correct? Sherlock interrupted, though John was quite interested in our discussion.”

 

“Yeah, I remember,” came the older man’s response, without hesitation.  It was more solid. Mycroft smiled internally. He knew. “Would you like some tea?”

 

“No thank you, love, I have just finished a cup. I would not be opposed to some brandy, however, when I am finished.”

 

“Consider it done,” Gregory said, and there were footsteps fading.  The men in the room began to relax, starting to turn their focus back towards Mycroft and his laptop. Of which they had yet to break in to, naturally.

 

“Right, now,” the leader said, stepping around so he could shove the laptop towards him. “Password.”

 

That was as far as the man got. The moment the study door burst open, Mycroft reacted.  He spun in his chair too quickly for the man next to him to respond accurately, grabbing his thick wrists and twisting, causing him to cry out in pain as he dropped his weapon.  Gregory was colliding with the man near the door, both of them barreling to the ground. There was shouting and fighting, and then two silenced gunshots that crashed through the window. His sniper. 

 

The intruders crumpled to the floor, all but one dead. The leader was fatally wounded, but alive, which was perfect to being able to extract the last bit of information they required from him.  Mycroft smoothed out his suit with a sigh, watching as Gregory scrambled to his feet and darted across the room.

 

“Are you okay?” he asked immediately, hands coming up and cupping Mycroft’s cheeks instantly, checking him over for injuries. The younger man’s eyes softened and he chuckled.

 

“I am quite all right, Gregory, thank you.”

 

“How long had they been here?”

 

“About an hour, I suppose.  It’s been rather tedious.”

 

Gregory let out a nervous bit of laughter, before hopping up on his toes to kiss Mycroft sweetly.  They embraced, and Mycroft ran his fingers through Gregory’s silvery hair.

 

“You were perfect, my dear,” he complimented.

 

“Vatican cameos, right?” Gregory asked. Mycroft answered him with another kiss.

 

“As I said,” he whispered against Gregory’s lips. “Perfect.”


	290. Carving Pumpkins

Greg was surrounded by high-pitched, gleeful laughter as his partner arrived home that evening.  He knew there was no way Mycroft would be prepared for what he was about to walk in on.  To be fair, though, they hadn’t made anywhere _near_ the mess they’d made years previous.  He would never forget the time Christina came home to a disaster in their kitchen. The stuff had made it up on the walls, for god’s sake.  Not to mention that he, and their two girls, were completely covered.

 

Covered in pumpkin guts, of course.

 

“My’s home!” Abby cheered, throwing her hands up in the air and succeeding in flinging some pumpkin seeds at Greg’s face.

 

“Indeed I am,” came Mycroft’s reply as he appeared in the doorway to the kitchen.  Immediately, his eyebrows were up in his hairline as he took in the sight before him.

 

Elizabeth was currently pointing at Greg and laughing in amusement at the pumpkin guts he’d been sprayed with in his younger daughter’s elation.  Abby was bouncing where she sat, hands shoved in a pumpkin almost as big as she was, with seeds up her arms and maybe in her hair a bit.  Greg was between them, cross-legged on the floor, wearing ratty jeans and a tanktop.

 

“I see I’ve been missing out on something rather interesting,” Mycroft commented, eyes flicking across the three of them and their pumpkins.

 

“Nu uh,” Abby replied, shaking her head. “We haven’t even started carving yet!  You can still join us!”

 

“Abster, Mycroft just got home,” Greg chuckled, nudging her with his elbow. “Don’t bombard him the minute he gets in the door.”

 

He was attempting to save his partner from his ten-year-old’s excited wrath.  If he had truly thought that Mycroft would have been interested on getting on the kitchen floor with them and carving a pumpkin, he would have waited for the man to get home before they started.  There was always the chance Mycroft would surprise him, of course, but it just didn’t seem like something he’d be willing to do himself.

 

He had learned, though, that if anyone could twist Mycroft’s arm in the most random of things, it was Abigail Lestrade.

 

“Thank you for the invitation, Abigail, but I believe I would serve much better purpose as an observer rather then a participant,” Mycroft declined in the perfect, smooth way he always could. Greg smiled softly. “Now tell me, what have you all decided to carve into these pumpkins?”

 

“I’m doing Hello Kitty in a witch’s hat,” Abby announced, pulling her hand back out of the pumpkin to point at the stencil on the floor next to her. “She’s got a cape and a broom too.”

 

“She looks wonderful, Abigail,” Mycroft nodded, leaning against the counter where he stood to peer over at the stencil.

 

“Little Miss Ambitious over there,” Greg commented with a proud grin.  He had been shocked when his younger had showed him the stencil.  He supposed it wouldn’t be too hard, and Abby seemed confident enough, but it was definitely the most advanced carving she’d set out to do on her own. He wanted to ignore the signs of that showing she was growing up.  He wasn’t ready to accept that.

 

“I’m doing a raven,” Elizabeth answered after a moment. “From Poe.”

 

“Ah, of course.  Excellent choice,” Mycroft complimented with a smile. Elizabeth had been reading a lot of Edgar Allen Poe recently, which was clearly the inspiration for her design, and felt rather appropriate for the holiday.

 

What about you, Gregory?” he asked after a moment, pale eyes sliding to regard the older man with loving amusement. Greg grinned and shrugged.

 

“Dunno,” he admitted. “A ghost, maybe?”

 

“So boring,” Abby teased, rolling her eyes dramatically and dumping a handful of pumpkin guts into the plastic bowl next to her with a squishing noise.

 

“Oi, I’m not all fancy and artistically inclined like you two,” Greg said in attempts to defend himself, straightening his back so he could puff up his chest a bit.

 

“My, you really should carve a pumpkin with us,” Abby said after a bit of teasing her father. “It’s so much more fun when everyone is.  Borrow some of da’s clothes or something so you don’t hafta get messy in your fancy suit.”

 

Greg could already see Mycroft caving, even if he was reluctant.  That was how, about ten minutes later, the younger man was lowering himself onto the kitchen floor between Greg and Abby.  Sure enough, he _was_ wearing some of Greg’s clothes, which was bizarre enough on its own and Greg fucking loved it. What a sight.  He’d never forget this moment.

 

It was almost as great a sight as his ten-year-old leaning over and very professionally instructing him on how to gut his pumpkin.

 

Amazing.


	291. Dreaded Visit

Greg was doing his best to relax in the chair up against the wall, legs crossed, absently staring at a magazine as his youngest daughter was stretched out on the chair thingie in front of him, with a dentist leaning over her.  She was getting braces. It wigged Greg out a bit, and he had to grab this magazine (poor choice, he was pretty sure it was some women’s health thing) just to keep his stomach from turning flips as he stared at what was going on.

 

Greg hated the dentist.  Absolutely hated it.   All his life he’d done everything he could to avoid going as long as possible, even when he really should have gone.  He was definitely one of those that would prefer figuring out home remedies for toothaches rather than come to one of these sterile rooms with the damn light and tools that looked more like torture devices than anything.

 

Mycroft had, of course, forced him to go to a cleaning the week following him figuring all this out.  Forced in the … very Mycroft Holmes way he could force someone to do something without actually commanding them to do it. It was sneaky and Greg was all too familiar with it, but he’d caved regardless.  It had been an awful experience.  The younger man had gone with him, at least, so it helped a bit.

 

Now, he was back with Abby. She was handling the visit much better than he was.  She had been surprisingly looking forward to getting the braces, and couldn’t stop talking about what colors she was going to get for her bands.  He was proud, and he put on a brave face for her.  No need to let her know how bothered he was by these places. She was twelve, and while she probably wouldn’t be impressed on by his feelings by it, he didn’t want to risk it before the whole ordeal.

 

When it was all over, she came bounding over to him, smiling, showing off her brand new braces.  Complete with purple and blue bands.  He set the magazine aside and grinned, standing, and rubbing the top of her head affectionately.

 

“Ready to go, Abster?” he asked, glancing up as the dentist walked over as well.  She nodded.

 

“Yep!” she replied, bouncing a bit.

 

Greg nodded at the dentist, who spoke with him in regards to the procedure and going over caring techniques while she adjusted to them, proper cleaning, and everything.  Then, they were heading home, where Elizabeth and Mycroft were waiting. Abby was immensely excited to show off her new braces, which Greg still found endlessly amusing. He knew plenty of children her age that despised the thought of braces, even more when they had to have them, but as always Abby was a shining star that surprised him daily.

 

“Clearly it went well,” Mycroft nodded, smiling gently, and bringing Greg a cup of tea.  The older man hummed in appreciation as he sipped on the hot liquid.

 

“She was an angel, as always,” he responded, watching as she sat down.

 

“So, much better than you on your visit,” Mycroft commented, eyes shining as he teased his partner.  That got Abby and Elizabeth’s curious attention. Greg groaned.

 

“Hush,” he hissed, immediately turning his attention to his tea.  He heard his girls giggle.

 

“Are you saying da doesn’t like the dentist?” Abby asked, grinning widely at the treasure she’d apparently just discovered.

 

“Oh yes,” Mycroft confirmed, deciding that this was a brilliant topic of conversation.  Greg wanted a hole to open up and swallow him.

 

“Daaaaaaa,” Abby giggled, leaning across the table. “Are you scared of the dentist?”

 

“I am _not_ scared,” he scoffed, setting his tea down. “Not at all.  I just prefer… using my time for other means.”

 

“Oh my god you’re scared of the dentist,” Abby said, completely ignoring what Greg had just said.  He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.

 

“Good job,” he muttered softly, talking to Mycroft. “Ta for this.”

 

“Oh come now,” Mycroft smirked in amusement. “It’s not the worst discovery for them.”

 

“It kinda is,” he huffed, even though it really wasn’t. Just… timing.

 

“Here, da,” Abby said, walking over to him and handing out the lolly she’d gotten while they were there. “I think you need this more than I do.”

 

“Abby!” Greg huffed, playfully glaring. “Go. Be elsewhere.”

 

His youngest just laughed in amusement, before bouncing off and dragging Elizabeth with her – who had said nothing, but didn’t need to with the way she’d looked at him.

 

“And you did that, why?” Greg asked, turning to Mycroft when they were alone.

 

“To make Abigail feel even more accomplished in her visit today,” Mycroft said simply.  He reached over and stroked Greg’s cheek gently. “She was very brave and it’s a source of great pride in all of us.  She was excited, of course, but something like that is a good way to ease any concern that might crop up as she’s adjusting to them.  It will help with future visits, as well.”

 

Greg huffed.  Mycroft was right, as always.  He was still a bit embarrassed.  But perhaps it really would help, and honestly, how could he expect to keep something like that from his girls forever?  He shook his head, but he was smiling.

 

“Shut up and get me more tea,” he mumbled, his smile widening.  Mycroft chuckled and pulled him in for a kiss, before getting him the tea he requested.


	292. Forgetting Lunch

Greg was buried in what had to be the biggest mound of paperwork he’d ever seen.  He felt like he’d said that before, but this time it was truly the case. It was insane, and time-consuming, and boring, and miserable.  He could feel his lower back starting to ache a bit, and logically he should get up and move around, but he remained where he sat.

 

Something they never told you with complete honestly was that this was at least half of your duties as a Detective Inspector, if not more than that.  It wasn’t as glamorous as news coverage and reports or shows on the telly make it out to be. Not that it was surprising, of course, because that stuff was meant to be entertainment of some kind. This was not entertaining. This was exhausting.

 

It was awful to think that he almost wanted a murder to crop up, but when this was all he’d been doing practically all week long, getting out in the field would be a welcome change.  He was going a bit stir-crazy.  The case was, unfortunately, extremely high profile, which doubled the amount of paperwork he was going to have to do anyway. That, on top of a court case that was scheduled two weeks from now, and boom: even more paperwork. Not to mention the press conferences that had happened and were still happening… It was a bloody nightmare.

 

Greg had no idea what time it was when his stomach started to rumble.  The pang of hunger snapped him out of the daze he’d fallen into as he went over the case files to polish up their evidence in court.  He blinked and stretched, groaning as every kind of muscle popped, and then sighed and rubbed at his eyes.  He was beginning to go cross-eyed, he just knew it.  Pressing his lips together, he fished around in one of his desk drawers for the bottle of paracetamol he had sitting in there, hoping it would help take care of the headache that had come on strong as well.

 

There was a knock at the door as he was bent over in search of the bottle, and he hollered out for them to wait a moment, until finally he found it.  As he grinned triumphantly and was starting to sit up, he heard his office door opening anyway. Irritation flooded through him.

 

“I said hang on a sec-“ he started, before blinking at the unexpected visitor. “Oh.  Hey.”

 

“Am I interrupting?” Mycroft asked, raising his eyebrows curiously. He stood there with his umbrella hooked over one arm and a large brown bag in his other.  Greg began to grin again.

 

“Not at all,” he said, shaking his head, and pushing his chair back to stand.  He walked around his desk as Mycroft stepped in, leaning to shut the door behind him and give them some privacy. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. And I do mean sore. Words are blurring.”

 

“Then I feel my timing was rather impeccable,” Mycroft chuckled.

 

“Always is,” Greg nodded. “What’s in the bag?”

 

“Lunch. Because I doubt you have even considered food, and I know you’ve been in your office since about 5 this morning.” Greg shrugged, guilty as charged. “So why don’t you take a break and join me?”

 

Greg had a lot to do.  But he couldn’t say no to that invitation. He had missed his partner, who had been deep in work himself.  They’d barely seen each other all week due to their long hours.  He nodded, reaching over to take the bag from Mycroft, who turned to prop his umbrella up against the desk before taking his coat off and sitting down.

 

Greg cleared some space on his desk, enough so they could place out their food, before he began taking things out. He groaned as the smells hit him, and he realized what had been brought.

 

“Chinese,” he sighed happily. “Thank Christ. You’re the best, I fucking love you.”

 

“And I you,” Mycroft said, eyes shining in amusement.

 

Tugging another chair over, Greg settled down next to Mycroft instead of on the other side of the desk. The younger man was retrieving their chopsticks, and Greg took his with a grateful nod. As he reached for one of his containers, their knees pressed together, and it caused him to stop for a moment.

 

“C’mere,” he motioned, reaching over and cupping Mycroft’s cheek.  He drew him in for a slow kiss.

 

“What was that for?” Mycroft asked against his lips.

 

“For lunch,” Greg whispered. “And for you. Because we’ve been busy and I haven’t been able to rightfully enjoy the feeling of your lips for too long now.”

 

“You smooth talker,” Mycroft teased affectionately. “Now eat your chicken.”

 

“Yes sir,” Greg smirked, saluting his partner with his chopsticks before diving in.


	293. Playing Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ruxie mentioned in my last teen AU how it's much less common for older Greg to be the one playing guitar. I hadn't realized how easy it was to slip into teen AU mindset for the musical side of him, and decided to remedy that tonight. ;)

When Greg first saw the acoustic sitting behind the counter at the music store he and Mycroft had browsed in on their day off together, he instantly fell in love.  He could have easily spent an hour just standing and staring at it, much to his partner’s amusement.

 

“Myc, it was a _Martin D45_ ,” he kept repeating, as if that explained it. It did, though. It was all he needed to say. It was one of the best acoustic guitars out there, one of the most expensive, and fucking hell he’d always wanted one.

 

Maybe he was pining over it a bit. He was allowed to. It was beautiful and it would never be his, but it was the closest he’d ever gotten to one before and he would treasure it as much as he could.  He was dying to play it, but he didn’t have the guts to ask to.  An acoustic like that, you wouldn’t be demoing it in store unless you were putting down the cash for it right the and there.

 

He went back at least once a week, when his schedule would allow, so he could admire it some more.  He bonded with the older clerk that usually worked there, who had so many wonderful stories of his past and some of the insane adventures he’d had with famous musicians.  He was awesome.  When it was slow, they would play together.  Greg had a blast. He hadn’t had so much fun musically since he was in his 20s, and it made him feel a bit younger again.

 

Then, one day, he stopped by the shoppe and the Martin was gone.  His heart sunk, and the old clerk smiled sympathetically at him as he leaned over the counter.

 

“Yup, she was bought up earlier this morning actually,” Greg was informed.  He sighed.

 

“Well, as long as she got a good home…” he smiled sadly.  The clerk nodded.

 

“I have a feeling she has.”

 

Greg headed home a bit bummed out that night. He shouldn’t have expected for it to be there forever, of course, even with its price tag.  He had expected it to be a little longer before it got snatched up, though.  Oh well. He got inside, thinking about spending the evening with Mycroft and a nice dinner, some tea, and maybe a movie. That would lift his spirits.

 

He found his partner in the kitchen, already preparing tea, who offered him a gentle smile.

 

“Welcome home,” Mycroft greeted, walking over and cupping Greg’s cheek, leaning in to kiss him gently.  Greg hummed into the kiss, feeling better immediately.

 

“The Martin was gone,” he mentioned, though, as they sipped their tea.

 

“Oh?” Mycroft asked, raising his eyebrows in interest.

 

“Yeah… Clerk said it went to a good home, though, so I guess I can’t be too disappointed.”

 

Mycroft just nodded, going back to his tea without comment,

 

As they finished, the younger man stood and reached for Greg’s hand.

 

“Come with me,” he prompted, squeezing Greg’s hand as their fingers threaded together.  They walked through to the sitting room, past the sofa and over towards one corner. Confused, Greg stared at his partner’s back, until they had stopped and Mycroft was stepping aside…

 

Greg felt his heart bloody stop in his chest. There she was. The Martin D45 was leaning gently against the wall, and it was… Was it his?

 

“M-myc?” he prompted breathlessly.

 

“Yes, Gregory,” Mycroft nodded, answering the unspoken question.  It took a few moments for Greg to move before he slowly stepped forward, crouching down and picking it up, holding it close.  He ran the pads of his fingers along the strings and facing almost reverently, lips parted in awe, and was only brought back to the now when his partner spoke.

 

“I thought we might play together?” Mycroft asked, and Greg’s head jerked up in surprise.

 

“You ‘n me?” he asked, gaping. Mycroft just smiled.

 

“Indeed,” he nodded as he strode a few steps away, sitting down at the piano that didn’t get near enough attention. Lifting the casing, his slender fingers swept across the keys, and Greg smiled softly in the way that they were so similar to each other in certain things.

 

Then, slowly, he pressed down on a few keys. Greg sat there, watching, almost forgetting what he was holding in his hands.  The melody… it sounded familiar.  Greg pressed his lips together as he tried to place it. After a brief pause, it sped up and Mycroft’s fingers began to fly across the keys at an insane speed, and it dawned on him.

 

His partner was playing Muse.

 

When _the fuck_ did he learn to play Muse?

 

It only took another beat for Greg to fall into place, however.  He glanced down and began playing along on the guitar, falling into the series of notes he knew all too well.  His eyes fell shut as he let the music they were playing take over, and bit his bottom lip, taking a deep breath.

 

“ _H8 is the one for me, It gives me all I need, and helps me coexist, With the chill_ ,” he sang softly, only partially aware of Mycroft watching him as he played the piano melody so flawlessly you’d think he’d known the song for years.

 

It was only after they both stopped playing that Greg opened his eyes and looked over at the younger man, who was smiling at him.

 

“When did you learn Space Dementia?” he asked, voice soft.

 

“When I decided to purchase the Martin for you,” Mycroft explained, shutting the casing and standing. “It was one you played often at the music shoppe, and with my skills on the piano, it made sense.

 

“You bought me the Martin,” Greg said, staring down at the beautiful guitar in his hands again.  Slowly, he set it down, swallowing as he stood.

 

“I did,” Mycroft nodded.  Greg walked over to him, closing the distance quickly and grabbing his waistcoat, tugging him close and crushing their lips together. Mycroft made a noise of surprise before returning the kiss heatedly.

 

“God Mycroft,” Greg sighed against his mouth. “I can’t even begin to tell you… I just… Fucking hell.”

 

 

“I know,” Mycroft smiled.

 

“I’m taking you to bed now.”

 

“I know,” Mycroft repeated, smirking more mischievously now.


	294. Unexpected Reassurances

The knock at the door was ignored, which honestly wasn’t surprising.  Sighing in amusement, Greg knocked again, waiting patiently before he knew he would just wander on in.  He shifted, very aware that he was being ignored, shook his head, and opened the door anyway.

 

“It should have been obvious I did not want to see you when I declined to answer the door, Mycroft,” Sherlock snapped, turning as he was fidgeting with his tie.  Greg smirked as he watched the surprise flit across his face when he realized that it was not his older brother who had walked in.

 

“Sorry to disappoint, Sherlock,” he joked, shutting the door behind him and wandering into the room.  The detective sighed and turned back around.

 

“I suppose this is the less annoying alternative,” he commented.

 

“Ta for that,” Greg snorted.  He watched Sherlock continue to mess with his tie, even though he really didn’t need to, and it was a curious thing for sure. Was he nervous? His smile softened a bit, and he risked the question he hadn’t been sure he wanted to ask at first.

 

“So how are we feeling?”

 

Sherlock snorted in response, pulling his hands away from his tie and smoothing down his tuxedo jacket.

 

“Do not think that we are going to have some sort of bonding moment, Lestrade,” Sherlock sighed, turning to look at him again.

 

“Oh come on,” Greg shrugged. “You’re getting married, Sherlock.  Never thought I’d see the day.”

 

“Indeed.”

 

“Listen, seriously Sherlock, this is a big deal,” Greg said, leaning against a chair next to him.

 

“Yes, and because you have been married more than once and are now my brother-in-law, you are filled with wisdom I must have imparted on me this very moment.”

 

“Maybe,” Greg nodded. “But I know you love John. A lot.  And yeah, you all live together and everything, and not much _will_ change, but there’s something that’ll settle in between you two that wasn’t there before. And I know you’re nervous as hell right now, and it’s okay.  It’s completely normal, and I know John is too.”

 

“Is he now?” Sherlock asked, arching an eyebrow slightly.

 

“’Course,” Greg nodded. “But that’ll all fade when you’re up there together.”

 

Sherlock hummed, but Greg could tell when he was actually paying attention.  He knew the younger Holmes was nervous.  He’d been around Sherlock long enough to be able to gather that much. It was a bit scary how much he could pick up on the small cues both he and Mycroft exhibited.

 

“This is an amazing day, Sherlock,” Greg smiled, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder gently.  Sherlock froze under the touch and glanced over, but didn’t shrug him off.  So there was that.

 

“Yes, I suppose it is,” he muttered, regarding Greg with a softer look than normal.

 

On the other side of the hall, Mycroft stepped into a room with a pacing John Watson.  The doctor jumped in surprise as he walked in, lips parting a bit and clearing his throat.

 

“Mycroft,” he nodded, turning and messing with his hair for what had to be the hundredth time that morning.

 

“There is no need to second-guess yourself, Doctor Watson,” Mycroft commented.  He heard John huff, which tugged the corner of his mouth up in a small smile.

 

“Yeah, well it’s happening anyway,” John shrugged, sighing. “Sherlock made it clear more than once he didn’t care about any of this, and yet here we are.  I was crazy putting this whole thing together.  Of course Sherlock wouldn’t want an actual wedding.”

 

“Maybe he didn’t,” Mycroft nodded. “But there’s no need to think he doesn’t now.  In fact, it may ease your mind to know that he is most likely in about the same state as you are currently.”

 

“Yeah right,” John snorted.

 

“John, my brother loves you.  I have never seen him love someone as completely as he does you. You are more than aware that I don’t waste words with false pleasantries either, so you can trust me on this. Yes, he was opposed to the thought of a wedding at first.  As was I when Gregory and I were the ones getting married.  However, while he’ll never admit it and he attempted to be quite clever in disguising it, he came to us more than once under some ridiculous pretense in order to ease his mind and make sure he was doing things correctly.”

 

John stared, lips parted as he soaked in what Mycroft was saying.  The politician offered a small, genuine smile.

 

“He wants to do right by you, John,” Mycroft continued. “And I will admit that I am looking forward to you becoming a part of my family.”

 

“Are you now?” John grinned.

 

“Indeed, and I won’t be saying it again,” Mycroft commented light-heartedly, smirking as he tilted his head towards the door. “Come on now, I believe it’s time for you and Sherlock to… tie the knot, as it were.”


	295. Observing, Reading, Knowing

Mycroft glanced up from the newspaper he was reading as he heard Gregory coming into the house.  He never knew why he read the paper, except to just pass the time, because he knew everything that was going to be in them and they were almost always guaranteed to be riddled with inaccuracies.  This one was no different.  He smiled softly at the older man, watching as he shuffled across the room and immediately fell down next to him on the sofa with a sigh.

 

“Long day,” he commented, folding up the paper and setting it aside.  He turned his body more towards Gregory’s, pale eyes scanning across his body and taking everything in. 

 

Most of the morning clearly spent at his desk, followed by being outside in the rain they had for an hour before it stopped and turned cold.  He’d been running his hand through his hair repeatedly, as he did when he was stressed and thinking, and chewing on his bottom lip.  He’d had more cups of coffee than he had thoughts of eating, and most likely ate little more than the croissant he clearly had for breakfast.  His back was hurting, something he would not bring up, nor would he ask for any assistance or even most likely take the hot shower his body could desperately use.  His eyes were drooping with clear exhausted, yet it would take a few hours more before he would consider lying down.

 

“Just glad to be home,” Gregory mumbled in response, slumping against the sofa and tilting his head back with a sigh. “Hope yours was better?”

 

“Mmmm, it was tedious.  Would you like some tea?”

 

“Nah, m’fine.”

 

Mycroft knew that would be Gregory’s response, yet he stood all the same.  The motion earned him an exasperated chuckle, and he smiled in response before striding into the kitchen to make them some.  He remained in there as the water heated up, prepared their cups, and carried them back in to where his partner hadn’t moved an inch.

 

“Here you go,” he offered, holding one out. Gregory took it and nodded his head in thanks.  His shoulders were still quite stiff, something that being hunched over on the sofa and drinking tea would not fix.  Mycroft still considered coaxing the man into a shower, but…

 

“Take your shirt off,” he commanded gently after a few moments of silence had passed between them as they drank their tea. Gregory stared at him with wide, curious eyes.

 

“Do what?” he asked, blinking.

 

“Take your shirt off,” Mycroft repeated, setting his cup down and motioning to his torso.  Gregory blinked again, but complied, tugging it off and tossing it to the floor.

 

“Tanktop too,” Mycroft said with a smile. Gregory always wore one underneath, an extra layer of his own, but the politician also needed it gone for what he had in mind.  He hummed in appreciation as Gregory did this as well, tossing it to join his shirt. He sat bare-chested on the sofa now, and Mycroft couldn’t resist taking a few moments to admire the sight in front of him.

 

“Like the view?” Gregory smirked. Mycroft chuckled and nodded.

 

“Naturally.  However, I would like you to turn so that you’re sitting sideways on the sofa. Facing away from me.”

 

Mycroft shifted closer after Gregory had done as he asked, reaching up and settling his hands along his warm, bare shoulders. A soft sigh left the other man as he realized what was about to happen, and Mycroft’s mouth quirked up in another smile as he began massaging the tense muscles there.

 

It was obvious Gregory needed one. Besides, he felt he should return the favor, for the man gave wonderful massages of his own.  Gregory would never ask, never wanting to inconvenience Mycroft, but that was a foolish concern.  He moved back and fourth across his shoulders, before sliding down to focus on his shoulder blades and the center of his back next. Gregory’s back arched a bit as he pressed into the touches yearningly.

 

After a few moments of this, Mycroft leaned in and began pressing soft kisses across Gregory’s shoulders. His eyes moved to watch the man’s face, unable to keep from laughing affectionately as he watched the series of pleasure and appreciation flitting across his face. It was beautiful. Gregory was so full of expression, and it was quite a wonder.  At one time Mycroft thought that made him easy to read, and in some ways, it did. In others, not so much. He loved watching how the man responded to different things, especially the subtle shifts that not many people would notice.

 

Mycroft, however, would always notice.

 

“I believe a hot shower would do you some good,” he mumbled after keeping the touches up for a while.

 

“Nah, it’s fine,” Gregory replied, shaking his head. “Just tired.”

 

“I’ll join you,” Mycroft offered, in attempts to sweeten the deal.  He did enjoy showering _with_ Gregory, and while he didn’t necessarily need one before bed (as he would shower first thing in the morning), if it would convince the other man to take the shower his aching muscles needed, he would gladly do so.

 

“Okay, well… if you’re gonna join me…”

 

“Of course,” Mycroft laughed again, pressing more kisses to his shoulders and neck before pulling him off the sofa and towards their en suite.


	296. Absentminded Touches

The first time they held hands properly, it had been Greg who’d initiated it, but Mycroft who had clearly wanted it more. They’d been sitting in the back of one of Mycroft’s fancy black cars on the way to dinner (their second date), when Greg had noticed faint movement out of the corner of his eye. He’d glanced over, the other man not looking at him, however… His hand had gotten noticeably closer to his own on the seat between them.  Their pinkie fingers were as close as could be without actually touching, so much that Greg could feel the bit of heat radiating between them.

 

It had surprised him at first, and for a moment, all he could do was sit there.  Mycroft hadn’t really come off as a very touchy-feely person in general, and Greg hadn’t wanted to come across as expecting anything when they slowly started getting involved with each other, but this said differently. Even with as mysterious as a Holmes could be, Greg was a DI.  He knew body language.  Everything about Mycroft’s screamed desire for the contact he didn’t seem to want to initiate on his own.

 

With a slight smile, Greg turned to look out the window as he lifted his hand a fraction and settled it over Mycroft’s. He could hear the sharp intake of breath, and took pleasure in the moment of catching the younger man by surprise, as he felt his cheeks heat up in a bit of a blush.  He wasn’t a sodding teenager, and yet Mycroft made him feel like one.

 

It was Mycroft who took the next brief step, threading their fingers together as they continued to pointedly not look at each other during the rest of the ride to the restaurant.

 

He wasn’t sure if that simple action on that night was the catalyst for what their relationship turned into or not. Perhaps that was a bit dramatic. It did, however, open up a level of comfort between them that Greg realized was extremely important. He had been right, of course: Mycroft wasn’t a touchy-feely person.  Unless your name was Greg Lestrade, though, and it was something he was beyond proud of.

 

The two of them grew closer very quickly, and after _many_ months of staying at each other’s places very late, and even growing to the point where they had a drawer of their own in the other’s wardrobe, they bit the bullet and moved in together.  Greg’d had some reservations about it, having lived alone since his divorce.  He almost forgot what it was like to have two people fit into one place together comfortably.  They did it, though, and in doing so, Greg truly learned the extent of how touchy-feely Mycroft truly was.

 

Mycroft stretching his feet out under the table as they ate dinner, rubbing his toes against the side of Greg’s foot. Slender fingers running across Greg’s shoulder blades as he was offered tea.  Shoulders pressed together when they stood out on the balcony and shared a cigarette.  Rubbing small circles against Greg’s shin as he rested his feet in Mycroft’s lap. Resting a hand on the small of Greg’s back as they walked through their home together.  A squeeze of his shoulder or a brief brush of hair off his forehead.

 

Mycroft was always touching Greg. A lot of the touches were fleeting, but they were so intimate.  Each one carried with it a jolt of heat that eased the older man’s heart no matter what. Sometimes Mycroft didn’t even realize he was doing it, and that was the best part.  It was as if he was drawn to Greg in a way he couldn’t deny himself, no matter what, and that a day wouldn’t be complete without being in close proximities like that.

 

It was less discreet in public, naturally (unless you were Sherlock, who would snort in disgust every time). Even still, a small touch to his forearm or a quick brush of fingers against his own as they passed each other, or walked together, still happened.

 

No matter the frequency, Greg felt his heart flutter every time. He craved the touches almost as much as everything else.  It was as if Mycroft’s subconscious yearned to be near him always, and it was one of the most intimate and highest forms of compliments Greg had ever known. Each one said _I love you_ and _I need you here_ , seeking those simple reassurances, and he smiled happily every time.


	297. Mrs. Hudson Always Knows

“That man would greatly benefit with someone in his life,” Martha Hudson sighed one afternoon as she watched Mycroft Holmes saunter out of 221B irritably.  Though, really, having Sherlock press him on so didn’t help.  Brothers.  For as often as he complained of boredom, you would think he would get over whatever feud they had long enough to actually accept one of the folders he would bring over.

 

“That, Mrs. Hudson, is a rather terrifying thought,” John chuckled good-naturedly, smiling as he sipped from his tea. Mrs. Hudson crossed her arms.

 

“Oh come on now, John!” she fussed, shaking her head. “You know as well as I do that these Holmes boys need someone who can reign them in!”

 

She cheered inwardly at the flustered blush that emerged on John’s face as she said this.  The two of them had finally gotten past their stubbornness and, after years dancing around each other, were the couple she always knew they would be.

 

“Like, how about that Detective Inspector?” she continued after a moment of consideration.  The two of them seemed a good pair, and Detetive Lestrade was a very nice man.

 

John was so shocked he choked on his tea, sputtering and coughing harshly.  He grabbed at the front of his jumper as he gasped for a proper breath, and in the sitting room, Sherlock snorted obnoxiously.

 

“Mrs. Hudson, have you been in your soothers today?” Sherlock asked sarcastically.    She gave him a stern look.

 

“ _Sherlock Holmes_ , I am serious,” she snapped, pointing at him in the very motherly way she always did. “He would be good for your brother, Detective Lestrade.”

 

She was regarded with amusement and skepticism. Not that she was at all bothered by it. They always underestimated her, and had for years when it came to the two of them, but she had known. Martha Hudson was infamous for picking up the little things between two people; her friends had always said so. This was no different.

 

She had the opportunity to be rather smug about it a month later when both Mycroft AND Greg Lestrade where in the flat. Unplanned, of course, but as she followed Greg up, she couldn’t help but smile to herself. That smile continued as she watched the way the two of them seemed to politely dance around each other. The awkwardness there was tender and timid, and she _knew_. The pleasantries they spoke, before the Detective Inspector was trying to get Sherlock out on a case, made her smile even more.

 

She also didn’t miss the way Mycroft smiled longingly after him as he left, even if no one else in the flat saw.

 

The day she let it slip in front of them was a most amusing one.

 

“Mycroft, dear, when are you going to take this nice man out for dinner?” she asked the next time they had both arrived at the flat to see Sherlock, gesturing at the Inspector.  Her tenant’s annoyed groan almost masked a surprised noise Mycroft emitted, though both were covered by the laughter that Greg let out. Mycroft was beet red, and it only made her look at him more pointedly.

 

“Mrs. Hudson, I thought you were going to get tea?” Sherlock shouted, pinching the bridge of his nose.  She tutted and waved her hand as she walked off.

 

Everything was finalized, of course, later at that year’s Christmas party John had somehow convinced Sherlock into letting him throw again.  Mycroft actually came to this one, and he didn’t arrive alone.  He and Greg came in together, and within moments Sherlock had seemed to deduce it and couldn’t actually form a proper sentence for once. It was most amusing.

 

“Now I won’t say I told you so, but…” she started as she looked at John, who looked just as surprised.  The sweet doctor stared at her in surprise.

 

“How exactly do you do it, Mrs. Hudson?” he asked, baffled.  She giggled.

 

“Oh, love, when you’ve seen as much as I have, it’s all quite obvious,” she answered, sipping her wine happily. “I had you two pegged within days, no matter how much you denied it.  Love is easy enough to see for an old woman like myself.”

 

“You are a marvel,” John compliment. She shooed him away.

 

Throughout the night, she watched as Mycroft and Greg grew more comfortable.  With the news out, neither man seemed as if they were restraining themselves anymore. They migrated closer to each other, arms brushing as they stood and talked with people, and she even caught them kissing under the mistletoe an hour or so later.

 

She knew Greg would be good for Mycroft. It was clear how he already was. The elder Holmes had a different presence to him, even if not much else changed.  It was all rather wonderful how love could change a man.

 

“Sherlock, play a song for them!” she requested, adjusting the antlers on her head and motioning towards the announced couple.

 

“I assure you, Mrs. Hudson, that is not necessary,” Mycroft denied as Sherlock looked like he would rather never solve a case again than comply with that request.

 

“And I assure you that it is, Mycroft, so hush,” she scolded gently, shaking her head.  As Sherlock started to play, though announcing pointedly that it was for John, and _not_ his brother, Mrs. Hudson watched as Mycroft’s arm slid around Greg’s waist and pull him close. They leaned into each other, and the taller man took the briefest of moments to press a kiss into the other’s silvery hair.

 

Once again, Martha Hudson had known all along.


	298. Feeling Overprotective

It had been a month, and Mycroft was still in awe of the small form in front of him.  He had been around babies before, of course, having played a huge role in raising Sherlock.  He had been young then, however, and the relationship was so much different. The fierce protection and love was still there, but intensified ten fold.

 

“I am finding it hard to compartmentalize all of these thoughts and feelings,” he admitted to his husband in a hushed voice, the two of them standing there and gazing down at their sleeping son. There was the gentle huff of a chuckle, and Gregory was leaning against him gently.

 

“Yeah, I know,” he whispered. “I’m a bit familiar with that feeling.”

 

Mycroft hummed his acknowledgement. Their Oliver was his third child, so none of this was that new to him.  Mycroft, however, had never imagined the role of a father before. He was very close with Elizabeth and Abigail of course, but they were both older and very mature in their own ways, so it was worlds different.  Oliver depended on the two of them entirely, having no independence to speak of yet.

 

“I cannot fail him,” he muttered, barely even realizing he had said it out loud.  His focus was on his son – _his son_ – so he missed the way Gregory was now watching him fondly instead. He jumped a fraction as a firm hand settled on his forearm, and blinking, he tore his gaze away from Oliver to stare over at the older man.

 

“You won’t,” he attempted to reassure, tugging him away from the crib a bit.  He tilted his head towards the door, suggesting their departure from the room, and Mycroft allowed himself to look back at Oliver for a few moments more before they went into the sitting room.  Gregory guided him over to the sofa and had him sitting down, before disappearing into the kitchen and coming back a few moments later with two cups of fresh tea in his heads.

 

“Thank you,” Mycroft said as he accepted his cup, shifting as the other man sat next to him on the sofa.  They adjusted, pressing into each other comfortably, sipping their tea.

 

Mycroft’s mind was still racing. He remained silent as he focused on the warm liquid passing through his lips, and while it aided in relaxing his body, that was about it.  He felt the overwhelming responsibility to ensure Oliver’s paths in life were comfortably laid out in front of him.  He knew the wonders of the world, but he also knew the negativity.

 

“I want to give him everything,” he sighed finally, feeling odd as he tried to express himself.  Even now, after all this time, this was still not quite his area. “And protect him from it all at the same time.”

 

“Yup,” Gregory chuckled, gazing lovingly over at him. It warmed Mycroft’s heart, but didn’t ease his frustration.

 

“When does that go away?” he asked in slight irritation.

 

“It never does, love,” Gregory answered, and Mycroft sighed.  That was the answer he’d been afraid of.  He knew the way his husband was with his girls, even Elizabeth, who was 18 now and about to live on her own.  Pressing his lips together tightly, Mycroft ran a hand through his hair and focused back on his tea again.

 

“I know the cruelties of the world,” he said softly, gazing into his cup. “As do you.”

 

Gregory hummed his agreement.

 

“Children was never something I had thought of before, as you are well aware,” he continued. “I am still a bit in shock at how immediately Oliver has cemented himself into our lives. There is so much in the world that he might never be aware of, and so many risks…”

 

“Risks that could be true for every child,” Gregory commented.

 

“Not every child has parents with our lines of work.”

 

“Mmm, but some do.  ‘Sides, Ollie’s got something going for him. He has _us_ as parents.  It’ll all be fine,” Gregory reassured.

 

“It’s overwhelming,” Mycroft admitted, still feeling odd at talking openly about the sensations he had yet to get a handle over. A hand slid around his waist, and Gregory hugged him close.

 

“I know,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to Mycroft’s cheek.

 

“I wouldn’t change our decision, though. You know that, correct?”

 

“Of course.”

 

Mycroft sighed, smiling and leaning into Gregory even more.

 

“He is extremely beautiful.”

 

“He sure is,” Gregory whispered, smiling brightly and pulling Mycroft in for a proper kiss.


	299. Physical Therapy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never had a torn ACL or ever needed physical therapy for anything before, sooooooo some research on the internet is all that provided me the knowledge I tapped into for this. Apologies if there are any inaccuracies.

Greg gritted his teeth as he attempted to push himself off the sofa, only to be gently pushed back down and given a stern look by his partner.  He sighed, slumping a bit, and staring at his stretched out leg.  He’d torn his ACL playing football last weekend, during a stupid maneuver that had him tangled up in a player from the other team, and this was the result. It hadn’t been severe enough to require surgery, thankfully, and after a bit of persuasion, they went ahead and released him after his x-ray.

 

He was doing everything he could to avoid having to go somewhere for his physical therapy.  He greatly preferred doing everything in his own time within his own home. Mycroft had agreed to be of assistance, most likely because he could see the determination Greg had about the whole thing. The older man’s appreciation for that was endless.

 

“Gregory, if you insist on remaining home, you have to allow me to do things for you,” Mycroft said pointedly as Greg practically pouted up at him. “What is it you need?”

 

“Meds,” he sighed after a moment, wincing as he shifted to try and get comfortable on the sofa again.

 

“Here,” Mycroft said, eyes softening as he saw the pain Greg was in.  Stepping close, he slipped slender hands under Greg’s leg, lifting it slowly and grabbing a pillow to settle under his ankles. “I will get the ice compress.”

 

“Can you put the pillow under my knee?” Greg asked softly.  They knew the knee had to stay elevated, which the current adjustment did, but it didn’t seem as comfortable or effective.

 

“Your knee will only get more stiff if we do that,” Mycroft said, shaking his head in denial of the request. “You will thank me for later for denying that particular setup.”

 

Greg sighed as Mycroft left the room, going to grab the stuff that had just been mentioned.  He was so annoyed at the whole situation.  He’d be out of work for at least two, maybe three weeks. Even if he went back earlier, he’d be confined to his desk.  DI Dimmock had gotten a bunch of his cases, while Sally headed up the others (especially the ones they were already more involved with together). She emailed and texted to keep him updated, and he provided what support he could electronically, but that was about it.

 

He knew he’d start getting stir-crazy, especially because after another day or two, Mycroft wouldn’t be able to afford staying home as much as he was.  Greg was surprised he had already stayed home as much as he had.  It only cemented the fact that Anthea really was pure magic. The man in question returned a moment later with a cup of tea in one hand and the compress in his other. He set everything down on the table in front of the sofa, before sitting down next to the injured man.

 

“We’ll leave it on for approximately 20 minutes, and then once the majority of the ache goes away, we’ll attempt some of the stretches the doctor mentioned,” Mycroft was saying as he picked the compress back up.  He leaned over, carefully wrapping it around the swollen knee and securing it in place. Greg sighed as the coldness almost instantly seeped into his muscles and worked on numbing the throb he was suffering from.

 

Tea came next, with a dosage of the medications he’d been prescribed.  He took them and washed them down, sipping at the tea for a while, as Mycroft remained seated next to him quietly.

 

“Thank you,” he said after a few moments. Done with his tea, he handed the cup over to Mycroft, who set it down on the table.

 

“Of course,” Mycroft nodded, tilting his head a fraction.  Greg smiled.

 

“I mean, for _all_ of this,” he clarified, gesturing towards his knee. “Staying home with me. I know it’s not a luxury you can really afford, and yet you do it anyway.”

 

“Of course I did it,” Mycroft said, smiling gently. “Anthea is well equipped to keep everything in line for a few days, and thankfully you at least had good timing with your injury.  There is nothing immensely pressing that requires my _personal_ attention.”

 

“Well, at least I did that much right,” Greg said, managing a chuckle.  Mycroft hummed and reached over, brushing his knuckles along his cheek.

 

“Indeed.”

 

Greg slumped against Mycroft, who wrapped an arm around his shoulders, who only pulled away when he had to take the ice compress off 20 minutes later.  Once it had settled, Greg stretched out on his back so Mycroft could slowly work on one of the simple stretches, taking his foot and carefully pushing so that his leg bent at the knee.  They only did it a few times, until the stretching started to ache a bit more than it should, before he settled back down comfortably.

 

The recovery was going to be a slow process. Greg couldn’t help but scowl at the crutches he was forced to use to get around currently.  But at least he had Mycroft there to help him through it. There was a small mercy in that, at least.


	300. Greediness Pays Off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> teen AU ;D

“ _Sherlock_ ,” Mycroft hissed, huffing in exasperation.  He crossed his arms loosely, attempting to ignore the defiant and yet so… pouty look on his little brother’s face.  Pouty was really the only word for the face the nine-year-old was making.  Even still, he shook his head, which only made the younger Holmes stomp his foot.

 

“Oh come on Mycroft, none of them will care,” Sherlock said, frowning and vibrating a bit.  The bag in his hand rattled as its contents were shifted around with the movement. “If they even notice.  You’ve said more than once how little common people actually observe.”

 

“That does not give you the excuse to be greedy, Sherlock,” Mycroft challenged.

 

“But I want more _candy_ ,” his little brother stressed.  Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

“As do all the other children out here trick-or-treating, to which I am amazed you actually desired to do,” he sighed, having been assigned the responsibility of taking Sherlock around to the surrounding neighborhoods for the Halloween tradition.  He had somehow taken quite the fascination in it this year, having not been remotely interested in years past.  Now, not only did his pirate-clad little brother insist on stopping on as many streets as possible, he was now attempting a second lap.  Ridiculous.

 

“It’s been two hours and adults are not paying near enough attention to remember my face in order to realize they’ve already given me candy,” Sherlock was pointing out. “Besides, most of the other children have gotten what they want.  Because they don’t have aspirations.”

 

“Then would that not mean your second lap would be pointless?” Mycroft asked, resorting to another form of logic. It always worked, eventually. Well, most of the time it worked. “With all the other children having walked around, I believe that any houses that still have candy are down to the less than desirable ones; ones that you will scoff and attempt to get me to consume anyway.  Why don’t you save us both a decent amount of time and call this to an end?”

 

Sherlock seemed to ponder this, and Mycroft felt a small wave of victory flood through him.  He was quite tired of trudging around like this anyway. His victory was short-lived, however, as his brother’s eyes shortly began to slant in a way he knew meant that he hadn’t quite gotten away with it.

 

There were downfalls to having a brother almost as intelligent as he was.

 

“Your logic is sound, were we in the right area,” Sherlock challenged, speaking far too sophisticated for his age. At least, that’s what other people said. Mycroft hardly agreed. “However, these neighborhoods are filled with children, meaning those who are passing out candy would make sure to have a significant amount available.  Nothing is worse to these plebeians than disappointing a bunch of adorable children in costume by running out.  Also, since we are in a wealthier than average area, this solution is increased significantly because they all have the money to throw away carelessly.  I am going for a second lap.  You may go home if you like, though I do believe Mummy will be quite cross with you should you decide to.”

 

Mycroft had stopped for a moment at hearing Sherlock say the word ‘plebeians’.  That had been a first.  Unfortunately, he brought up many good points, using logic just as sound as his own. Mycroft would not voice his agreement out loud, however he knew his brother to be quite correct on his analysis. So, with an annoyed sigh, he waved a hand toward the direction of the street, shaking his head again as Sherlock took off down the sidewalk.

 

Sure enough, no one seemed to bat an eye as Sherlock approached the door and put on quite a show.  The day he had perfected his false smile was the day Mycroft knew every adult around would be in trouble without ever realizing it. It was most amusing, if he were being honest.  However, he should have known that, eventually, someone would catch on. 

 

“Hang on,” a teenage boy (a few years Mycroft’s senior) said, giving Sherlock a sideways glance even as he was smiling in amusement. “You’ve been here before, you little sneak.”

 

“That is quite beside the point,” Sherlock commented, holding up his bag and smiling.  The teenager snorted.  Mycroft expected to be prickled by the action, but instead he was just amused. Interesting.

 

“Apologies, he can be quite stubborn once he sets his mind to something,” he spoke up, deciding to intercede and hopefully drag Sherlock towards home. 

 

The teen turned his focus to him now, deep brown eyes lighting up in a bizarre way.  He ran a hand through his black hair and shrugged.

 

“Like I care,” he commented honestly. “The little tyke can have the rest, the last thing I need is more candy sitting around to tempt myself with.”

 

Mycroft was fascinated.  This boy didn’t seem to come from particularly comfortable means, nor did he seem at ease in the neighborhood.  Recently moved in, most likely.  The story behind that could be an interesting one.

 

“Name’s Greg Lestrade,” the teen was saying, still gazing at Mycroft in a way that made his stomach clench and his cheeks get warm.

 

“I’m Sherlock Holmes,” Sherlock spoke up after Mycroft neglected to respond right away. “This is Mycroft.”

 

“Brother?” this Greg Lestrade asked, glancing back down at Sherlock. 

 

“Indeed,” he hummed. “Your candy now.”

 

“Sherlock, at least say please and pretend to be polite,” Mycroft scolded.

 

“ _Fine_ ,” Sherlock snapped. “Please?”

 

“’Course,” Lestrade chuckled, practically dumping the remainder of the candy into Sherlock’s bag.  The younger Holmes was instantly distracted, turning away. Mycroft nodded his head in appreciation and smiled, making to turn, when- “Wait.”

 

Mycroft turned back around, eyebrows rising curiously, as he watched the older teen lean inside his home for a moment. He pointedly did not look at his backside.  As tempting as it was. He had no idea what was wrong with him. When Greg straightened again, he was holding a piece of paper.

 

“For you,” he said, holding it out in offering. Mycroft blinked, before taking it.

 

“What is…” he started, trailing off when he realized that a phone number had been written on it.  He blinked again, heat flaring back up in his cheeks.

 

“Call, or text?  M’not picky either way.  Maybe we can… do coffee or something,” Greg Lestrade shrugged.

 

“I, uh,” Mycroft stammered, caught completely off guard. Was this boy asking him out? They didn’t even know one another. Not that the offer was… undesirable. That thought almost puzzled Mycroft more than the invitation itself.  He hardly cared about those things, unlike every other person in his age group, and had not once shown more than a passing interest in any of them. Yet…

 

“Mycroft, let’s **go** ,” Sherlock shouted behind him.  Mycroft jumped, broken from his flustered trance.

 

“Yes, I must… Thank you for humoring him,” he said, managing a slight smile.

 

“I think it’ll be worth it,” Greg grinned. Mycroft’s eyes widened, lips parted in shock. “I mean it.  Call me.”

 

Mycroft continued to stare at the phone number, barely hearing whatever Sherlock was rambling on about. He ensured to make all the correct noises of response, enough to go by without too much scrutiny. By the time they made it home, Sherlock was dashing off with his loot and Mycroft had made a decision. Perhaps texting this Greg Lestrade wouldn’t be such a bad idea.


	301. Having A Lie In

Greg stretched out under the duvet, barely managing to stifle a yawn as he tugged it up even more around his shoulders. He rolled onto his side, sighing comfortably, and shifting close to the warm body next to him. He was amazed Mycroft was still in bed; the younger man was always up early, usually needing to be somewhere at a meeting or… something work-related.  Even on their rare days off together, like today, he was up a lot earlier than most people would when they didn’t have anything to do.

 

“Gregory,” Mycroft huffed out a chuckle, voice still a bit deep from the remaining bits of sleep that lingered in his consciousness. He shifted as Greg threw an arm over his waist and pressed into his side. “I was just about to get up.”

 

“Sod that, stay in bed,” he grumbled, nuzzling the smooth silk of his partner’s pajamas.

 

“It’s almost 8.”

 

“Yeah, and we’re both off,” Greg pointed out, finally cracking an eye open. “Stay in bed?  Let’s have a lie in.  We never have lie ins.”

 

“I cannot find sense or reasoning in remaining in bed all day,” Mycroft sighed, even though his was smiling softly. “Even if neither of us have the call of duty, we could be doing something.”

 

“Eh,” Greg shrugged, hugging Mycroft tighter and curling into him more.  Still half asleep, he slipped a bit again, amazed that he wasn’t quite getting pushed away so the other man could get up anyway.

 

He stirred once again as Mycroft was finally attempting to move his arm.  He groaned in protest.

 

“Honestly, Gregory, I need to use the facilities,” Mycroft said.  Greg blinked, lips parting in realization, and reluctantly rolled over onto his back so the man could get up.  He covered his eyes with his elbow, listening to Mycroft pad across the room and (what he assumed) grab his robe, before heading into their en suite.  He returned a few moments later, actually getting back into bed. Greg made a noise of pleasant surprise and shifted close again before Mycroft could change his mind.

 

A chuckle rumbled through Mycroft’s chest, and slender fingers were running through his hair and gently massaging his head. Greg groaned at the feeling, curling their legs together and hugging him tight again.  This.  This was bliss.

 

“Do you not want tea or something?” Mycroft asked after another half-hour had passed. 

 

“Eventually,” Greg admitted.

 

“Exactly how long constitutes a ‘lie in’?”

 

“Depends,” Greg answered, nuzzling into Mycroft’s chest as his head was still getting stroked. “I’ve stayed in bed pretty much an entire day before.”

 

“Dear lord,” Mycroft exclaimed softly, obviously baffled.  Greg snorted in amusement.

 

“We won’t do that,” he reassured his partner quickly, trying to prevent the man from fleeing the bedroom all together in that moment. “Promise.  Maybe a few hours. Let’s have a lazy day for once. Maybe some sex?”

 

“That’s hardly lazy,” Mycroft pointed out, but his tone was light with the promise of that occurring.

 

“Mmmm, and then a shower…” Greg continued, a smile pretty much permanently on his face. “Then tea, and then… more sex.”

 

“ _Gregory,_ ” Mycroft scolded playfully.

 

“I’m joking,” Greg grinned, lifting his head. “A little.”

 

“So a few more hours,” Mycroft confirmed. Greg nodded.

 

“If… if you don’t mind,” he said, suddenly concerned that Mycroft might get beyond bored or irritated at the idea.

 

“I believe that will suffice,” he was agreeing instead, smiling in the way that made Greg’s heart skip. “Although, you will be the one preparing tea, I think.”

 

“Deal,” Greg laughed, crawling up Mycroft’s body to kiss him lazily and passionately all at the same time.


	302. Halloween Fair

“There are many other, more productive things we could be doing with our time this evening,” Mycroft said softly, leaning close to Greg while attempting to avoid other people brushing against him. Greg blinked, turning an amused eye towards him.

 

“Is that so?” he asked, already knowing where the conversation was going.  It wasn’t the first time they’d had it today, but the outcome had been the same regardless.

 

“Obviously,” Mycroft sighed, pale eyes shifting to the side, and he pressed his lips together at what Greg had to agree was the most obnoxious laughter he’d heard in a while.  He had a good feeling that was what Mycroft had protest to the most, more than exactly what they were doing, but it came with the territory.

 

“Perhaps, but look at him,” Greg said after a moment, gesturing in front of them where their five-year-old son was playing some kind of ring toss with pumpkins. 

 

Oliver was proudly dressed in the police constable uniform he insisted on wearing for Halloween this year.  He’d said that he wanted to be like daddy, and Greg couldn’t stop grinning over it even now.  He was jumping slightly as he tossed the rings, laughing as they landed. He would turn to look, make sure his fathers were watching.

 

“You couldn’t have said no to that face,” Greg continued, smirking as he gazed at his husband. “Admit it.”

 

“It’s because he has your smile,” Mycroft muttered, and Greg’s smirk widened brightly. “God help me.”

 

“Yeah, you’re pretty much screwed there,” he laughed brightly.  Gently, he elbowed Mycroft, nudging him gently. “I’m gonna grab some warm cider, be right back.”

 

Popping up on his toes to press a quick kiss to Mycroft’s cheek, he shoved his hands in his pockets and turned. He passed a number of games and stalls along his way; a basketball game, a monster-themed whack-a-mole, a face-painting booth… When Greg had caught wind of the Halloween-themed fair setting up, he had thought it to be a great opportunity for Oliver. They’d taken him trick-or-treating, of course, but this was the first year since their son had been born that something like this had set up.  Sure, there were plenty of fairs and carnivals, some they’d been able to take him to and some they hadn’t, but Greg always remembered the special feelings associated with holiday ones.

 

He finally made it to the concession stand, where he stood in queue for less time than he’d expected.  Armed with three ciders stuffed in a cardboard drink carrier, he carefully made his way back to his family, having to lift them and dodge a mummy and a Superman that had darted past him, followed by an apologetic, exhausted mother.

 

“What’d I miss?” he asked aloud, announcing his return as he approached Mycroft and Oliver.  Mycroft smiled, reaching over to help relieve him of some of the drinks, as Oliver bounced and held up a big stuffed cat.

 

“I won!” he announced proudly, beaming up at Greg over the feline.

 

“Good job Ollie!” Greg praised, taking the small cup from the carrier that Mycroft was now holding, and kneeling down. “Why don’t I take him for a moment so you can have some yummy cider?”

 

“’Kay,” Oliver agreed, handing the cat over. Greg carefully handed over the cup, keeping a hand hovering nearby as he sipped at it and hummed in appreciation. Greg chuckled. Their son was a constant bundle of energy.

 

“I’m so proud, I’ve never won the pumpkin ring toss before,” Greg said after a few moments.  Oliver reached up with one hand and pushed his slightly-too-big officer’s hat up and away from his eyes, before giggling.

 

“Papa helped.”

 

“Oh did he?” Greg asked, arching an eyebrow as he turned to look up at his husband.  Mycroft merely sipped his own cider.

 

“I may have offered a few tips,” he admitted eventually.

 

“ _Mycroft_ ,” Greg teased. “Teaching our son to cheat at a carnival game.”

 

“It is hardly cheating,” Mycroft countered. “It is merely using physics and size to one’s own advantage.”

 

“Sure,” Greg snorted.  He tapped on Oliver’s helmet affectionately and stood, grunting as his knees protested and stuffing the cat under his arm. He knew he’d be carrying the thing the rest of the night anyway.

 

“Where to next, Ollie?” he asked, taking the almost-empty cup from the child.

 

“Face painting!!” he announced triumphantly.

 

“Face painting it is,” Greg nodded, and they started to make their way towards the proper booth. “Maybe we can get Papa’s face done.”

 

“Gregory, don’t be absurd-“ Mycroft started.

 

“Yes, Papa!” Oliver interrupted. “You and me! Please?”

 

Greg bit his lip to keep from laughing, knowing in that moment that Oliver had won.  His hunch was solidified as he stood off to the side, watching Mycroft reluctantly lower himself onto the wooden bench next to their son. He might have snapped a photo, and he even might have texted it to John.  Maybe.


	303. Pumpkin

Gregory loved pumpkin.  Mycroft hadn’t been quite prepared for how much true that fact was. He’d noticed, of course, here and there with pastry desserts and such.  Now, however, it was October and it was _everywhere_. It was definitely a seasonal type of squash, heightened with Halloween being right around the corner.

 

It was this time of year that Gregory’s love for pumpkin was at its highest.  It was readily available in every form imaginable, and even some you didn’t, and Mycroft found it rather absurd.  There was nothing wrong with it, mind, but to have it a part of every kind of candy imaginable and its smell all over the place was a bit overboard.

 

He didn’t deter his partner’s love for it, of course. It would be around for around two months and then its presence would dwindle away, so Mycroft had decided it was worth dealing with.  This was why, as he left the office for the day, he stopped to get a few things for the older man. It had been very clear from their brief afternoon conversation that Gregory wasn’t having the best day, so it seemed an appropriate time to surprise him a little bit.

 

The detective inspector was already home by the time Mycroft got there, which honestly was a bit surprising.  It had seemed like the triple homicide was going to be taking up more of Gregory’s time, but the politician wouldn’t be complaining. As he slipped inside the front door, he slowly put down the bag so it wouldn’t draw too much attention, and went about his normal routine of taking off his coat and setting his briefcase aside until later.

 

“Myc?” came the older man’s voice, tugging a smile onto Mycroft’s lips.  He leaned back over to pick the bag up again, before heading down the hall and towards the voice.

 

“I had not expected you to beat me home,” he admitted as he stepped into the kitchen.  Gregory was leaning against the counter, having just put the kettle on to boil. Mycroft smiled a bit more as he turned and pulled out a second cup to join the first.

 

“Sal kicked me out of the office,” he admitted with a shrug. “Told me to come home, relax, and grab a few hours of sleep.”

 

“Mm,” Mycroft hummed, nodding. “A wise decision. Sergeant Donovan is a bright woman.”

 

“Dunno how I’ll be able to get any sleep,” Gregory admitted, sighing and turning back to the kettle.  Mycroft took that opportunity to set the bag down on the island counter and walk over to stand behind him.

 

“I’m sure we can arrange something,” he said softly, wrapping his arms around Gregory’s waist and pressing a kiss to the back of his head.  He felt his partner lean back against him, hearing the smile in the content noise that emitted from him.

 

“I’m glad you’re home,” Gregory whispered, turning his head to press his forehead against Mycroft’s temple. “This case…”

 

“I know,” Mycroft nodded, pulling back slightly. “Here, I have a few things for you.”

 

“You do?” Gregory asked, raising his eyebrows curiously.  Mycroft only nodded, and turned to move back towards the island.  He pulled the bag over, the plastic rustling, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Gregory’s growing interest fondly.

 

Without replying, Mycroft reached into the bag and began to pull things out.  He got out a container of pumpkin-flavored coffee creamer (which the older man also occasionally put in his tea as well) first and slid it over, appropriate for the tea that was currently getting made.  A noise of surprise left Gregory, making Mycroft smile again, before he continued.

 

In the end, he pulled out a few candles, an air freshener, and a variety of pastries from his favorite bakery. After setting it all out, he took a step back and made an admittedly awkward grand gesture, before turning to gauge Gregory’s reaction.  He only had a few moments to do that, of course, as the shorter made strode up to him and threw his arms around his neck, tugging him down into a sweet kiss.

 

Mycroft blinked, eyes widening in the brief moment before he reacted, returning the kiss just as much.  He slid his fingers into Gregory’s hair, pressing close and tugging gently on his bottom lip, before finally parting with a soft gasp.

 

“Gregory,” he whispered, cupping his love’s cheek.

 

“Thank you,” Gregory husked, pupils darkening just slightly.  It was the perfect reaction.  Mycroft brushed the tips of their noses together.

 

“You do not need to thank me,” he muttered, offering his partner one of the genuine smiles that were almost exclusively reserved for him.

 

“I know it’s stupid, but-“

 

“It’s not stupid,” Mycroft chuckled, kissing him again before stepping back as the kettle began squealing. “Besides, faced with the facts of your day, I knew you needed something beneficial. Even something as simple as pumpkin-flavored…scented… things.”

 

He waved his hand in small circles lazily as he spoke, gesturing to the items on the counter.  Gregory chuckled behind him, and Mycroft heard movement as the man was clearly investigating the each of the items more closely. He went through the motions of preparing their tea, leaving Gregory to continue his observations, only drawing him away from the items as he handed over tea and drew him in for another kiss.


	304. After-Party Costume

The Yard always threw quite the crazy Halloween party. This year had been no exception. It had been a blast as always, only intensified by the fact that Greg had the sexiest man on his arm the entire night.  He hadn’t expected Mycroft to actually agree to come with him, but sure enough he was there, and Greg definitely had a permanent grin on his face the entire night.

 

Of course, when he was in a great mood and there was freeze alcohol, he tended to drink a bit more than he did normally. He kept fetching them both more drinks (which he suspected had a bit more alcohol in it than the mixture had called for), and Greg watched Mycroft be amazingly sociable with his colleagues. He was charming the pants off of Sally and Greg was just in awe.

 

As the evening drew to a close, they leaned against each other as they made their way out to the black car waiting for them. Maybe Greg was doing a bit more of the leaning, but Mycroft totally was too, so there.  He giggled as they fell in, the door shutting behind them, and Greg sighed and ran a hand through his hair as he shifted close.

 

Grinning, he shifted to drape his legs across Mycroft’s, wrapping his arms around the taller man’s waist and gazing at the slight flush on his cheeks.  Mycroft raised his eyebrows and hummed, grinning brightly, and Greg wanted to kiss him.

 

“Wanna kiss you,” he mumbled, smirking. Mycroft chuckled.

 

“Then what are you waiting for?” his partner asked, tilting his chin up as if in a challenge.

 

Greg wasted no time pressing in the rest of the way and leaning in to initiate a somewhat sloppy kiss.  He could taste the alcohol on Mycroft’s tongue, sighing into the familiar place of their lips pressing together perfectly as they always did. Mycroft hummed, practically tugging Greg onto his lip, gripping the front of his shirt securely to keep him from going anywhere.  They parted abruptly, Mycroft staring up at Greg with full emotions on his face, and he was beautiful.

 

“We’re home,” the younger man said huskily, and Greg shivered, blinking a bit as he turned to look out the window.

 

“Ah,” he said dumbly. “So we are.”

 

“We should get inside.  I have a surprise for you.”

 

“A surprise?” Greg asked, tilting his head curiously.

 

“Yes,” Mycroft nodded. “Shall we?”

 

Greg nodded, falling off Mycroft’s lap and taking a moment to let his vision stop spinning, before pushing himself up and nodding to no one in particular.  Mycroft snorted out a laugh, which made Greg freeze and bust out laughing as they tried making their way through the front door.

 

“We’re a bit drunk,” he commented as he shut the door behind them.

 

“Mmm, only slightly,” Mycroft insisted on specifying. Because that apparently made a difference. “Wait here.”

 

Greg nodded, watching as Mycroft bloody _sauntered_ down the hall and disappeared towards the direction of their bedroom.  Greg licked his lips and swallowed, before wandering into the kitchen long enough to get a drink of water.  Setting the glass down, he made his way back to where Mycroft had left him, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms loosely as he waited.

 

When his partner returned a moment later, he was smirking confidently.  Greg stared. Greg blinked, scrubbed at his face, and stared some more.  He was… holy fuck.  He was wearing a _very_ flattering halter corset (pinstripe, it was bloody **pinstripe** ), and… pinstripe hot pants?  Christ. It was incredibly arousing and yet insanely professional looking too.

 

“W-what,” he started to say, eyes darkened with lust as he gazed up and down Mycroft’s form appreciatively. The outfit accentuated all his curves perfectly and Greg shifted, his trousers immediately uncomfortable.

 

“I refuse to allow you to refer to it as a “sexy costume”,” Mycroft said, looking pointedly and making Greg chuckle through his arousal. “But let’s just say it’s a… more revealing interpretation to my usual wardrobe.”

 

Greg groaned, biting his lip and letting out a shaky breath.  He would never say out loud that Mycroft was standing in front of him in what was basically a “sexy government official” outfit, but goddamn this was the best surprise he’d had in a long while.

 

“Trick or treat,” he smirked, voice growling. Mycroft snorted.

 

“Do not say that again,” he commanded, but his tone was light.  Reaching in, Mycroft tugged him close, and Greg hooked one of his legs around the taller man’s, feeling his calf…

 

“Bedroom, now,” he practically pleaded. Mycroft yanked him back in for another rough kiss, before tugging him in the requested direction.


	305. Chapter 305

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got accidentally sexy. I did not plan it! LOL

What a sight to walk home to. Greg loved it when he and Mycroft had a day off together, because it had finally started getting to the point where his partner would dress casually if they weren’t going to leave the house. So, technically, Greg’d had to leave the house, but he knew he’d only be gone for ten, fifteen minutes tops as he fetched a few things from Tesco that they’d run out of.

 

Him leaving had been the first time they’d gotten out of bed.  It had been convincing, and they had a brief breakfast, but he was able to coax Mycroft back into bed with him.  It had consisted of slow kisses, a full body massage, and some rather passionate sex that had them sharing a shower afterward.  Brilliant.

 

So now, he was walking out of the kitchen, breaking out into a huge grin at the man walking over to him.

 

“What’s that for?” Mycroft asked curiously. Greg made no attempt to hide the way he appreciated the sight in front of him.

 

“You, in _that_ ,” he answered, gesturing to the old, huge t-shirt that Mycroft was currently wearing.  He hadn’t seen that shirt in ages, and it had always been too big on him, but it had been a gift from his gran, so he’d still wear it on occasion.

 

“It was nearby,” Mycroft shrugged. Greg loved it. The man still cared about his appearance, naturally, and there was a good chance he wouldn’t have the garment on long, but that was fine.

 

He wanted to take a photo rather badly.

 

“Are you…” he started, blinking as he noticed. “Are you not wearing pants?”

 

“You observe well,” Mycroft smirked mischievously.

 

“Holy shit, Myc,” Greg breathed, chuckling. Sure enough, it was rather evident now. He was beyond shocked. Never in his life had he seen Mycroft like this. 

 

“Well, you gave me the impression we would be back in bed for at least a little while longer, so it seemed impractical to get completely clothed just to have it all taken off again,” Mycroft explained, voice calm and pure logic as always.  It was the kind of logic Greg could always get behind.

 

He walked over, placing his hands on Mycroft’s wrist and pressing close.  The younger man hummed in content as his thumbs rubbed small circles, his head tilting back slightly.  Greg took the opportunity to lean in and brush his lips along the angle of his jawline.

 

“Who says we have to go all the way back to bed?” he whispered, earning a rumbling chuckle from his partner. Oh yes, this was going to be a thrilling day indeed.

 

They began kissing, Greg guiding them slowly through the sitting room while trying to be mindful of their furniture. It was a rather successful venture, he felt he needed to boast, as they approached the sofa. His hands slid down a bit more, tugging on the edge of the long shirt before slipping underneath to the warm skin there.

 

He stroked along the curve of Mycroft’s, brushing back along the curve of his arse a bit.  It drew the slightest of gasps from his partner, who pressed closer, shifting against him.

 

“You’re quite eager,” he mumbled, glancing down to see Mycroft’s erection, the shirt having shifted and doing nothing to hide it.

 

“You have this effect on me…” Mycroft replied, cheeks red.  His pale eyes shifted to the side a bit self-consciously, and Greg reached up to turn him back so they were looking at each other again.

 

“Hey, don’t be embarrassed,” Greg said, eyes soft and encouraging and loving. “It’s amazing.”

 

They kissed again, Greg letting his hand fall once again.  Mycroft huffed into the kiss as Greg’s fingers brushed along the side of his length, barely keeping back a groan as Greg sucked on his bottom lip.

 

“Why don’t you sit down, and let me take care of that?” Greg asked, raising his eyebrows and grinning.  Mycroft exhaled shakily and nodded, stepping back and sitting gingerly on the couch.

 

Greg got down on his knees, settling both arms along the outside of Mycroft’s thighs.  He pushed the shirt up and began pressing slow kisses to his stomach, nuzzling around his bellybutton and moving lower, his hot breath causing goose bumps across the man’s pale flesh.  Slender fingers settled into his hair, stroking gently and gripping as Mycroft shifted along the sofa, but not yanking.  Not that Greg would mind if he did.

 

He could feel himself straining in his jeans, but as much as he wanted to relieve some of the pressure, he ignored it for now. This was about Mycroft. His arousal could be dealt with later. That was the beauty of how intimate and comfortable they were together.  Sex was never truly the goal.  Making one another feel good was.  And it always would be.


	306. Snoring

Mycroft shifted on the bed, adjusting his and Gregory’s pillows before leaning back against the headboard. He glanced over at the slightly miserable man sitting next to him, gesturing him to move backwards as well so he was within reach.

 

“Come here, Gregory,” he whispered gently, smiling. The older man sniffed thickly and nodded, before shifting back as asked and leaning against him slightly.

 

Over the past few years, his husband had begun to develop a bit of hay fever.  It was something he’d never dealt with growing up, unlike Mycroft who suffered from it seasonally, at the very least.  That, of course, failed to take into account the other array of allergies he had (most potently with many types of flowers, lilacs being one of the absolute _worst_ ).  So naturally, he was very sympathetic to Gregory plight.  This, of course, also meant that he was familiar with the different medicines and methods that could help alleviate some of those symptoms; make them bearable.

 

Having already given Gregory a fresh dose of prescription medication and brewed an herbal tea specifically geared towards allergic reactions, there was not much else to do except help him get to sleep. Mycroft had also given him a dose of Paracetamol to help with the intense headache he was suffering from. However, there were a few more things he could do.

 

Turning slightly on the bed, Mycroft parted he legs and helped guide Gregory in between them.  He gently tugged at him until he was settled back against his body. Shifting against to gain a bit more of the higher ground, he lifted his hands and began very gently rubbing at his temples in slow circles.

 

Gregory groaned, slumping back against him and closing his eyes.  Mycroft smiled softly, pressing a kiss into the back of his hair.  He hummed as he felt Gregory’s arms settle on his knees.

 

“God, Myc…” Gregory sighed, sighing again.

 

“This should help your sinus headache,” he whispered, nuzzling into his husband’s hair, hoping that he was offering some form of comfort.  Gregory hadn’t fallen into another sneezing fit since before dinner (thank heavens for small miracles), but he remained achy and stuffy and every other type of miserable that came along with it.

 

“Mm, feels good,” Gregory nodded, sniffing again. Mycroft peered over, watching the man’s nose scrunch up at what was most likely a threatening assault that tickled something awful.  Mycroft was more than aware of all the signs.

 

“You should be able to sleep soon,” Mycroft commented, whispering into his ear softly.  The tea would kick in soon, assisting in making the older man sufficiently drowsy.

 

“I bloody well hope so,” Gregory groaned, rubbing at his nose lazily.  Mycroft was glad he didn’t sound as stuffed up any more, meaning that at least some of the congestion had cleared up.  His voice still sounded thicker, but his speech wasn’t actually impaired like before.

 

He continued with his massage for a little while longer, until he could tell that Gregory was starting to fall asleep. Mycroft roused him enough to help him stretch out and readjust along the bed, tugging the duvet over him and leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips.

 

“Sleep, Gregory,” he whispered, brushing back some of his hair with a smile. “Do not worry about work in the morning, just get some rest.”

 

Gregory hummed his acknowledgement, brown eyes fluttering closed as sleep took over almost instantly.

 

Carefully, Mycroft picked his laptop up from the floor and powered it on.  He was still wide-awake and thought it best to get some work done.  However, he wasn’t too keen on going back to his office, just in case the hay fever woke Gregory from his sleep and he needed anything.

 

After about twenty minutes or so, as Mycroft was reading through some new emails from Anthea regarding their upcoming trip to Paris for a conference, he heard a noise beside him.  Blinking, he turned, glancing over at where Gregory was still asleep next to him.  His lips were parted slightly, one arm tucked under his pillow and the other loosely clutching the duvet over him.

 

The older man was _snoring_. It was light, but it was steady enough to make it obvious.  Clearly he was still stuffed up enough that it could impair the normal breathing in his REM sleep. Mycroft watched fondly for a moment, huffing out a chuckle, before turning back to his email.

 

It wouldn’t be enough to cause any irritation for Mycroft.  It was enough that the younger man couldn’t help but find it endearing.  It was also something he would likely be keeping to himself, to keep from causing Gregory any unnecessary embarrassment.


	307. Finding Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> teen AU

Greg hadn’t necessarily meant to snoop. Could it really be classified as snooping?  He was just looking for class notes, after all.  Mycroft had gone to the bathroom, mentioning off-handedly to pull out yesterday’s equations for them to go over (mostly for his benefit, because he was shite at Maths and the younger teen somehow took pity on him and attempted to help). So yeah, that’s all he’d been looking for.

 

It just so happened that the notebook he picked up and opened was not Mycroft’s Maths notebook. Nope, it was his sketchbook. Maybe he should have shut it immediately after opening it, when he opened it to the park scene that had focus on one of Greg’s favorite trees.  Pure coincidence of course, because it really was one of the coolest trees in the whole park, so of course an artist’s eye would be drawn to it.  That should have been the end of it.  But he hadn’t really been able to resist.

 

His mate drew as more of a hobby than anything else. Mycroft’s true interests lied in politics, which he was so damn good at that Greg knew he’d be scary powerful one day.  Even still, as he’d come to learn in the time of their friendship, a Holmes never did anything half-heartedly.  Mycroft’s art was brilliant, ten times better than the vast majority of their art students, and he knew there was a profitable career right here. It would, however, remain nothing more than a mere hobby.

 

Greg had always been drawn to Mycroft’s art, much like he had everything else about the boy.  It had started as a stupid crush, but then they had actually started talking, and somehow that escalated to hanging out.  They were friends now.  He’d never expected Mycroft to enjoy spending time with him, but somehow he did. They’d gotten rather close. The stupid crush had escalated intensely.  But unlike almost every other aspect of his life, this was not something Greg was confidant would turn out in his benefit, so he kept it to himself.

 

Maybe he was pining.  Maybe his other close friend Sally glared at him knowingly when Mycroft wasn’t looking.  Maybe.

 

All of that changed in the moment he decided not to put the notebook down.  He flipped through the pencil sketches, in awe of every one, until he got about halfway through and froze.  He actually sucked in a breath in his shock.  His brown eyes widened as he gazed at the explicitly drawn nude male on the page before him.

 

He didn’t recognize the face, didn’t know if maybe it was an art model or something.  He was toned and he was… impressively well endowed.  Greg’s eyebrows rose curiously.  He tried not to think too far into it, because well, while Mycroft wasn’t studying art professionally, nude models were still very common. As something beckoned him to turn the page, though, the sketches continued to get more explicit, turning into rather well done, pretty fucking hot sex.

 

Greg licked his lips.  He snapped the notebook shut and set it down on the desk, running a hand through his hair and shifting where he sat in the chair. He was fighting off an eagerly growing arousal, and that was a bit not good.  His mind was racing.  Nude models were one thing, but homoerotic sex was completely different. He’d been curious about Mycroft’s sexual orientation, of course, but had never quite had the courage to bring it up.  Much like how he’d never had the courage to say anything or want to actually push for seeing if their friendship could be more.

 

God he wanted more.  Seeing those sketches made him wonder… Could Mycroft possibly want more? Was Mycroft attracted to other males? Certainly seemed that way. Seeing those sketches gave Greg a boost of confidence he wasn’t aware he could have, and he cleared his throat and straightened in the chair, taking a deep breath right as the other teen was returning.

 

“Apologies, I had to sort out what was about to become a disaster of one of Sherlock’s experiments,” Mycroft apologized, offering him a gentle smile as he joined him again. “Did you find the notes?”

 

 _Bollocks_. Greg had completely forgot to look for them.  His mouth was dry, a bit of self-doubt trying to sneak its way into his spike of confidence. Mycroft regarded him patiently, and he finally shook his head, eyes sliding towards the sketchbook again.

 

“Hey Mycroft,” he forced himself to say as he watched the younger teen open up the other notebook sitting on the desk. Mycroft hummed curiously as he glanced back over at him.

  
“Yes?” he asked evenly.

 

Greg’s heart was pounding.  _Just bloody do it. Ask him.  Ask him out.  Kiss him. Do something you daft idiot._

 

“Would you, ah…” he tried to start, rubbing at the back of his head a bit awkwardly.  Mycroft blinked curiously, and Greg couldn’t help the victory at being able to make Mycroft Holmes confused. “Would you wanna go for coffee?”

 

“Right this moment?” Mycroft asked, tilting his head to the side slightly. “If you want to take a break, that would be fine.”

 

“No, not… not like that,” Greg said, shaking his head. “Not a break from studying.  As… you know… You ‘n me.  Coffee. Together.”

 

“As we do often,” Mycroft said slowly, eyes slanting as he tried puzzling out what was being suggested. 

 

“Not… no, Mycroft, not as we do often,” Greg sighed. Biting his lip, he reached over and placed a hand onto the younger teen’s knee, squeezing gently. He licked his lips; his eyes locked with Mycroft’s pale ones, which were widening as he began to figure things out. Heart pounding so loud he could hear it in his ears, Greg started to rub at the inside of Mycroft’s knee with his thumb.

 

“Gregory….” Mycroft started, voice trembling. It was barely noticeable, but Greg noticed damn near everything about Mycroft.  He couldn’t help it.  He swallowed, biting his lip and feeling a slight surge of heat as Mycroft’s eyes flicked to the movement.

 

“I’d like to take you out for coffee,” Greg repeated. _I’d also like to snog you senseless.  But I don’t want to freak you out.  Deep breaths, Greg.  Slowly._

 

The silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity.  Finally, and Greg could have leapt up and cheered, Mycroft nodded.  Something flashed in his eyes, something that made Greg shiver, and a warm, slender hand was covering his.

 

“I thought you’d never ask.”


	308. Best Kind of Paperwork

“All right,” Greg announced with a sigh, snatching up the stack of papers sitting on the table and falling onto the sofa next to Mycroft. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.  Apart from the fact that it’s paperwork.”

 

“Better than the paperwork you normally deal with, I can assure you,” Mycroft commented, turning on the sofa. He knees bumped lightly into Greg’s, who glanced up and grinned brightly.

 

“Now that I can agree with you on,” he nodded, speaking softly and inching closer, turning as well.  Holding the papers up against his chest in a secure grip, he lifted his legs and draped them over Mycroft’s, who just raised an eyebrow fondly. He chuckled.

 

“Do you have a pen, love?” he asked, setting the papers on his lap and glancing down at them.

 

He saw Mycroft turn at the waist out of his peripheral, but remained focused on beginning to read the stack he had. A flutter of anticipation shook his chest, settling deep in his stomach.  It was a fond, yet slightly nervous warmth.  This was a big step.  One of the biggest. This was…

 

Christ, this was their home.  The papers in his hands were the contract that had been drawn up for their house.  _Their house_.  Honestly, it made sense with as much as they spent the night together. Greg found himself over at Mycroft’s more than his own dingy flat anymore, even when the politician was out of the country.  What had started out as a drawer of his own had increased, slowly and comfortably migrating into more drawers, and closet space.  He had slotted himself into Mycroft’s life, and Mycroft’s home, but they both knew it wasn’t the same.

 

It was time for them to get a place that was rightfully both of theirs.  It would no longer be Greg just staying over at Mycroft’s flat.  No, this was going to be both of theirs.  The place was big, bigger than Greg had thought they’d needed, but the more he thought about it the more he realized it would be perfect. It would give them room to grow and shrink, when necessary, and it was somewhere he could see them living in for the foreseeable future.

 

Thinking that long term and permanent should be scarier than it was.  That was perhaps the final sign that made it known to the older man that they were ready to live together properly.  He wanted this. He wanted Mycroft. As he read through each line, going over everything carefully, he chewed gently on his bottom lip and felt himself getting more eager and giddy with each page that was turned.

 

He’d been passed a pen at some point, which he turned over in his fingers as he continued to read.  It was a bit of an unconscious habit, as he tended to fidget when he was either really nervous or really focused.  Sometimes those went hand in hand.  While Greg wasn’t all that nervous, there was a bit of anxiousness that just came with making such a big decision.  But he was excited.  He was ready for the negotiations and the paperwork and the specifics to be done. He wanted them to move in.

 

There was a soft chuckle beside him, and suddenly Greg felt cool, slender fingers brushing along his jaw.  He blinked, shifting his gaze as his head was lifted. He parted his lips to speak but could only draw in a short breath before Mycroft’s lips were on his. It was unexpected, but amazing, and after a second where his brain caught up with everything, he hummed and returned the kiss eagerly.

 

Mycroft cupped his jaw, stroking his skin before sliding to hold him in place with the back of his neck.  It was a comforting touch, a warm touch, and one that had Greg sighing against the younger man’s lips.  When they finally pulled apart, his heart was pounding and his breathing was slightly uneven.

 

“What was that for?” he asked breathlessly, feeling a bit dazed.

 

“Just…for being you,” Mycroft answered simply, offering him an affectionate smile. “I feel I will never be able to thank you enough for what you have done for me, nor can I accurately reflect my appreciation for-“

 

Mycroft was cut off as Greg leaned back in to kiss him again.  He kissed Mycroft until they were out of breath, tugging on his bottom lip gently as they parted once again. It was his turn to smile affectionately, and he shook his head.  There was no need for thanks.  Surely the other man knew that.  But even still…

 

“I feel we could sit here and thank each other until the end of our days,” he whispered, grinning. “Your presence is enough. Your love.  It will always be enough.”

 

They kissed again for a bit longer, before Greg finally drew back and stared at the papers again.

 

“Bloody hell, we’re getting a place of our own.”

 

“Yes, Gregory, we certainly are.”

 

Greg huffed out a giddy chuckle, securing his hold on the pen again and signing.  He was ready.  This was the next step in their lives, and he was fucking ready.


	309. The Facade pt1

“Greg!” Annabeth Lestrade beamed, standing in the doorway with her arms outstretched.  Greg grinned at his mum, heading over and tugging her into a tight hug.

 

“Good to see you, mum,” he said softly, kissing her on the cheek before stepping back.

 

“You too dear,” she smiled, patting his cheek lovingly. “And finally not alone.  Please introduce me to this handsome man you’ve brought along.”

 

Greg huffed out a soft chuckle, turning a bit and reaching out, motioning for the _handsome young man_ to join them in front of the steps.  Mycroft Holmes tilted his head in acknowledgement, smiling softly as he stepped forward, extending a hand to shake with the shorter woman.

 

“A pleasure to meet you,” he greeted, eyes shifting towards Greg as he placed a hand on the small of his back. “Mycroft Holmes. I’ve heard nothing but wonderful things about you, Mrs. Lestrade.”

 

“Oh please, call me Annabeth,” she grinned, waving a hand in front of her casually. “I wish I could return the courtesy. My stubborn son has been rather tight-lipped about you, much to our frustration.”

 

“Well, you know how he can be,” Mycroft chuckled, and Greg’s mouth fell open.

 

“Oi!” he huffed. “We _just_ got here.  How about you not gang up against me just yet, Myc.”

 

“I trust you boys had a good trip?” Annabeth asked, turning and beckoning them in the house.

 

“Yes, mum,” Greg nodded, smiling and shaking his head. Of course she was calling them boys like they weren’t both in their forties.

 

“I was just about to put a kettle on, so go on up to your room and drop off your luggage, and I’ll see you in the kitchen after,” she continued to say as she wandered down the hall. “And I can get to know Mycroft much better!”

 

“C’mon,” Greg sighed, heading up the flight of steps they were next to and listening as the other man followed him up. He had wondered what sleeping arrangements would be like… Of course they’d only set up one bedroom. He hoped Mycroft wouldn’t be too uncomfortable with that.

 

He was quiet as they got into his room, Greg shutting the door behind them.  He set his suitcase down across the room, in front of his old dresser, and sighed.

 

“Sorry,” he muttered, smiling sympathetically at where Mycroft stood next to the bed. “She must have assumed that we would…”

 

“No apologies needed, Gregory, so do stop with them,” Mycroft said calmly. “She assumes us to be a couple. These are all natural responses to that. I was well aware of these possibilities when I agreed to come with you.”

 

“Of which I can’t thank you enough, really,” Greg said, walking over and sitting on the edge of the bed.

 

His family had been driving him mental with talks of him finding someone to settle down with.  They were convinced that it had been long enough since his divorce, and that he needed to “get back on the saddle”, as it were. Every possible holiday they had pestered him about bringing someone, and made it very clear they weren’t picky as to who he brought.  They wanted to see their son find someone to be with again.

 

They’d known about his bisexuality since he was seventeen.  He’d never had a problem bringing boys home, as well as girls.  He’d had a fairly easy time coping with coming out, unlike other kids he knew very well.  He was lucky. Now, however, as they were pestering him about bringing “a nice boy” home again after he’d separated with Christine, saying a change of pace would do him good, he’d been going mental.

 

Mycroft had become a very good friend over the course of their acquaintance.  They hung out a lot, having started weekly movie nights and chess matches (of which Greg was still rubbish at).  It had seemed only natural to ask him something like this.  Perhaps that was a bit odd.  Did you ask a close friend to pretend to be your boyfriend just to get your parents off your back?

 

It didn’t help that maybe he did have feelings for Mycroft.  They were feelings he kept well pushed down, naturally, but they were there.  He knew that was why he was kind of dreaded sleeping in the same room with the man over the course of their stay here. It was something he’d dreamt out often, and it would be rather torturous for him.  He hadn’t thought about it, but having one of them sneak into a separate room would be too suspicious.  He always used to keep extra blankets and pillows in the closet though, so maybe…

 

“Gregory, this is your familial home,” Mycroft said suddenly, staring at him knowingly.  It sent a shiver down Greg’s spine.  He could never get used to Mycroft being able to practically read his mind, as he clearly was doing. “You should not be entertaining the idea of sleeping on the floor.  We are going to be here for four days, and it will bare painful consequences for your back.”

 

“Mycroft, I just…”

 

“I can sleep on the floor.”

 

Greg blinked.  He had not expected Mycroft to offer such a thing.  He shook his head.

 

“No way,” he denied. “You’re doing this as a favor to me.  There’s no way in hell I’m letting **you** sleep on the floor. We’ll just both have to take the bed, I guess.”

 

They’d fallen asleep on Greg’s sofa together before, after a bit too much wine one late night, but never shared a bed. That was approaching an intimate territory he’d dare not even think about.  But here they were.  It was only a few days, and the bed wasn’t terribly small.  It should be fine.

 

So why did his chest feel like it was on fire?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be more... This one totally got away from me, LOL. I realize now that it could honestly turn into a stand-alone one shot, but that's okay. We're going with it. :)


	310. The Facade pt2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The more I write this the more I want to keep going.
> 
> There will be a part 3 here in the drabbles before I move on. Let me know if anyone is interested in taking this and turning it into its own story. If so, I'd be fleshing it out considerably and writing more Lestrade family interaction, as well as a few ideas that would make it slightly different for Greg and Mycroft than it is here. If you all are interested... I might just.

The past few days had gone surprisingly well. Mycroft hadn’t been entirely sure what to expect visiting Gregory’s family.  He’d harbored no doubts that they were wonderful people, of course, but there was the charade they had to put on for them all.  Pretending to be Gregory’s partner had honestly seemed like a menial task, and perhaps he had not given it enough thought before agreeing, but that was in the past.

 

A part of him felt strangely bad about deceiving the Lestrades.  They were quite a wonderful group of people, and none of them had hesitated at making him feel at home.  They welcomed him happily, and paid no mind to the ways he was different.  They actively wanted to include him, but did not push beyond his preferred boundaries of doing so.  They were respectful, they were caring, and they were fascinating.

 

Then there was the touching.  Obviously part of their pretend relationship meant they had to be physically more familiar with each other when in the presence of the family.  Gregory was not _overly_ familiar, only doing enough to pass scrutinizing eyes, clearly doing his best to not make Mycroft uncomfortable.  It had taken a bit of getting used to, but no one noticed.  Mycroft hid those kinds of things well.

 

There was, however, the point where Mycroft started welcoming the touches more than before.  There was a slight shift, barely noticeable (in fact, he was 96% sure that Gregory himself had not noticed), but it was there. It was an invisible pull that had Mycroft drawn to the small touches more than before.  The warmth that spread as their fingers brushed lightly, or as Gregory’s hand settled around his waist or against the small of his back. These little things…

 

Mycroft sighed, lowering his mobile onto his lap and glancing at the man sleeping next to him.  They had one more full day here, and then around lunchtime the following day they would be headed back to London.  It was a relatively short vacation, but of course work would not allow anything longer.  There was a strange feeling of disappointment creeping into his edges. It made his press his lips together as his pale eyes roamed across Gregory’s face.

 

Rarely did he allow himself indulgences like this. There was always work to be done, even back in university, and he hardly entertained crushes or feelings. They were there, of course, because through it all, Mycroft was human.  However, there were reasons that his motto was ‘Caring is not an advantage’. He cared… he just didn’t want to give into those cares.

 

He did so enough with Sherlock, and that had brought him nothing but trouble many times.  His little brother was exhausting enough, even with John Watson’s presence lessening things slightly.  He cared, even when Sherlock did not want him to.  He cared, even if Gregory would never realize it.

 

These few days were a glimpse into a world he had slowly begun to long for in the strangest of ways.  He’d had many sexual encounters over the course of his maturity, especially in university (more out of curiosity and yes, perhaps a desire to sate the animalistic needs that even he could not always avoid), but that’s all they were.  There were multiple sexual partners that wanted more with him, but Mycroft could grow frustrated or bored with them after barely a week.  He’d never… wanted a relationship.  There was too much at stake, for one.  Too much work, for another.  There was no one that fit well enough to even entertain the idea.

 

Then there was Gregory.

 

He was a man that constantly surprised Mycroft. He understood the demands met by work, because he clearly had his own.  They bonded over their mutual interest for Sherlock’s well being, but it grew into more.  They became friends. Mycroft felt the stirrings of attraction, something he had suppressed ages ago.  He felt desire.  It was aggravating.

 

He should have turned down this request. Yet, he could not. There was something about it that did not allow Mycroft to say no.  Now, masquerading as partners, it resurfaced that desire he had finally begun to push down. Now, when Gregory touched him lightly, he unconsciously began to lean into the touch.  They began occupying one another’s personal space more frequently, and it didn’t feel forced.

 

Now, here he was, sitting in bed next to the older man, who was asleep on his side and facing Mycroft.  His lips were parted slightly as he slept, his face peaceful and happy.  Mycroft blinked, his hand outstretched to brush back silvery hair before he realized he had moved. He withdrew, bringing his hand close to his chest, and huffed out a frustrated breath.

 

This was not a relationship.  This was false.  This was a mere façade, a show put on to relieve Gregory of the berating his family seemed to constantly give.  In two days time they would go back to London, and their friendship would remain, but this sudden familiarity would disappear.

 

Mycroft found that he didn’t want it to disappear. He pressed his lips together in a thin line and tore his gaze away from Gregory, staring across the man’s childhood room. He would need to start over. He would need to begin rebuilding those walls around himself again that this damn trip was taking down, one by one. He wished to do so immediately. He could not.  This had to remain, at least until they were out of the eyesight of the Lestrades.

 

Mycroft felt himself beginning to fall into a dangerous realm he might not be so keen to get away from when they were back in London.


	311. The Facade pt3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final part. I was overwhelmed by your responses yesterday/today though! You guys are all the best. And yes, I am going to split it off into its own thing and do even more with it. I actually even started writing it earlier today. So keep an eye out! Not sure when it'll be uploaded yet because obviously this is still priority one for another 54 days, but depending on how quick a pace I'm able to go, it shouldn't be too long a wait! :D

Greg couldn’t say exactly what caused him to do it. Perhaps the charade had become too comfortable, too natural.  Perhaps it was the wine they’d all been drinking.  Most likely it was a combination.  He was only grateful that Mycroft had such control over his reactions, because his parents didn’t notice.  Or maybe they were too drunk to notice.  Or they noticed and decided to ignore it.  It really didn’t matter at this point.

 

It was their final night in the Lestrade home. Greg’s father, Pierre, had cooked an insanely amazing dinner, and had opened a bottle of amazingly good French wine. After dinner a second bottle was opened. They all shifted back to the patio so Pierre could smoke, and Greg decided to join him.  He was feeling a bit tipsy, and one every now and again didn’t hurt.

 

He couldn’t recall what they were all talking about. The conversation tended to slip back and fourth from French to English.  Mycroft motioned a request to have a drag off his cigarette. He’d leaned in as he handed it over, their shoulders pressing together gently.  He had been absently watching Mycroft smoke.  It drew him in.  He was tipsy on alcohol and on the fun of the night, and he just… kissed the younger man.

 

It was a simple kiss, nothing more than pressing his nose and lips against Mycroft’s temple.  He breathed in his scent.  Seconds after it happened, he froze.  He’d heard the other man’s subtle intake of breath, clearly not having expected it himself, and his demeanor shifted just slightly.  Greg noticed.  He just knew these things, knew Mycroft well enough to see it.  He turned, and they glanced at each other.  Greg had no idea what to convey.  He just blinked, feeling heat flooding his cheeks, and he licked his lips nervously.  Mycroft’s eyes shifted towards the movement.

 

Suppressing a cough, Greg straightened and turned back towards his parents more.  His mum had smiled fondly at the display of affection and initiated another conversation, directing questions to Mycroft.  He was almost flawless in answering, clearing his throat with a tight smile as he started speaking.  Greg stared into his wine.  His heart was pounding so loud it was practically drowning out the conversation.

 

In this whole thing, with the closeness and touching they had done, neither man had kissed the other.  They’d gotten close enough to it, giving off the intimacy a relationship should have, for the sake of pretending to be dating, but… they hadn’t crossed that line.  Until tonight. Greg crossed that line and he was kicking himself inwardly for it.

 

He forced himself to snap out of it, drinking more wine and discussing the bakery with his da (who had been the owner for years). One cigarette turned into two, and again he shared it with Mycroft, though he kept a bit more distance now. As he was stubbing it out after, he set his empty wine glass down and stood, wobbling slightly at his change in gravity.

 

“Off to bed,” he smiled in announcement, running a hand through his hair.  As his parents were saying their goodnights, Mycroft stood and exchanged the pleasantries with them as well.

 

Greg chewed on his lip as they headed inside together. Neither of them spoke, and Greg hadn’t expected Mycroft to retire with him.  He was nervous, unsure what might happen when they got back to his old room. He should apologize, that much he knew for sure.  He squared his shoulders as they walked, letting Mycroft enter the bedroom first and pulling the door to as he stepped inside.

 

“Mycroft,” he started, scratching at the back of his head and glancing down at the floor. “Sorry, I-“

 

“It is all right, Gregory,” Mycroft said softly. Greg saw movement out of the corner of his eye, as the man walked across the room to retrieve his pajamas. “With the ruse, it was a natural response.”

 

  1.   A natural response.  The problem was that it was too natural.  That hadn’t just been for the ruse.  Greg hadn’t told himself to give Mycroft a kiss on the temple because they were pretending to be boyfriends. He had just… _wanted_ to.  He was tipsy and gods help him he was falling for the man.  This had been a bad idea.  He should never have proposed they do this.  He should have sucked it up and dealt with his parents’ berating him the whole trip here.  It was certainly better than what was happening between them.



 

Sighing, he went about getting dressed for bed as well. Mycroft left to go to the restroom, where Greg knew he’d be brushing his teeth for bed, as well as changing. He tugged on his clothes and sat down on the bed, not quite getting under the duvet yet.  He wondered if he should just sleep on the floor tonight. Or sneak into another bedroom. He wondered if Mycroft would feel comfortable sleeping next to him now.  Sure, it was just a simple kiss, but… Maybe Greg was freaking out a little.

 

He was concerned what he would do next, if anything. What other instinct was going to force its way out tonight?  He didn’t – he couldn’t – ruin their friendship.  It was too important to him.  He breathed shakily, barely noticing that Mycroft had returned until he felt the bed dip as he climbed in.  He jumped, glancing up at where the younger man was sitting next to him now, watching him.

 

“Mycroft…”

 

“Yes?”

 

Greg’s breath caught in his throat. Mycroft’s gaze was so piercing, and so _blue_.  It usually had more greys to it, but right now… He blinked, swallowing nervously.  His fingers twitched on his lap.

 

“Look, about the kiss, I don’t want things to get weird,” he made himself say, barely keeping from stumbling over his words. Mycroft listened patiently, eyes flicking across his face as he spoke (reading him, no doubt).

 

“Why would it get weird?” he asked, eyes narrowing at the puzzle before him.  Greg shook his head.

 

“N-no reason,” he sighed, tearing his gaze away.

 

“Gregory,” Mycroft spoke.  Greg bit his lip before forcing himself to look up again. “That was not for the charade, was it?”

 

 _Damn him._ Goddamn Holmes and their goddamn deductions and big brains.  Shit. Well, there was really no denying it. Mycroft would be able to tell, no doubt. There was nothing he could do except admit it and hope it didn’t destroy everything.  Hesitantly, he shook his head.

 

“N-no, it… not completely,” he sighed, staring down at his lap. “I’ve just had a lot of wine, and I…”

 

“Gregory.”

 

Greg glanced up again, and Mycroft’s face had shifted. It was softer, clearer. Fuck, he wanted to kiss him again. His eyes drifted to Mycroft’s lips, slender and pale, and he wondered what he would taste like. The wine?  Most likely.  He took a shaky breath, and a slender hand was on his knee, and fuck.

 

Reaching out, he cupped Mycroft’s cheek. It was smooth, and warm. Mycroft closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, and Greg had to bite his lip to keep from making some kind of strangled noise of surprise and sudden desire to be this way. He wanted this. Goddamnit he wanted it.

 

He was leaning in, and his mind was blank. He was pressing their lips together timidly, sighing at how warm and pliant Mycroft’s were.  They sat frozen like that for a second, before Mycroft pressed a fraction closer and began kissing him back.  Greg slid his hand across Mycroft’s cheek to cup the back of his head, feeling his soft hair and pressing closer again.

 

“Mycroft,” he whispered against the man’s lips. Their foreheads pressed together, and they were looking at each other again.

 

“We need sleep,” Mycroft muttered, and Greg held back a snort.  As if he could sleep after the kiss they had just shared.

 

“Mycroft, we need to…”

 

“It can wait,” Mycroft interrupted again, straightening. “We both need sleep.  This will be here tomorrow, and I do believe it will be better to handle when we are out of your parents vicinity, don’t you?”

 

Point made.  Greg hadn’t thought about that.  This was a big deal, something that should already have been cemented, and they… they had a lot to figure out.  He was still hesitant though.  Mycroft, sensing it, leaned in and started their second kiss, adding a bit more intensity to it.

 

“For now, it is sufficient to say I have thought about kissing you quite often,” he muttered, rubbing the edge of his slender nose against the side of Greg’s. “Now let’s sleep.  We will address everything back in London. Come home with me, we will have a private dinner, and lay everything out.”

 

“O-okay.”

 

They both stretched out under the duvet, turning off the lights and settling in for sleep.  Greg wasn’t sure if his emotions were just all over the place, but as he was falling asleep, he could have sworn he felt Mycroft’s body closer to his than the other nights.  That, in and of itself, was a positive sign.


	312. Getting Colder

_Your gloves are rather worse for wear.  –MH_

 

Greg blinked as he gazed at the text, brow furrowing at the words before glancing at the gloves he was wearing. Okay, yeah, so they were old. He’d had them for… well, too many years probably.  He’d just never really thought about them.  They only came out when the weather turned too cold to operate on a crime scene without, so most of the time they were out of sight out of mind.  Besides, while they were a bit ragged and had a few small holes in them, they still did the job.

 

Greg hated shopping for any sort of clothing. Always had.  So if he could postpone getting new gloves for another season or two, that’s exactly what he was going to do.  Pocketing his mobile again, he glanced up at one of the nearby CCTV cameras and shrugged, before turning back to the body they had.

 

The mobile chimed again a few moments later.

 

_You also do not have a scarf. –MH_

Greg sighed as he pulled the device out again. He snorted and shook his head, before glancing up at the camera again.  He offered a bemused smile before tugging one glove off to reply.

 

_You must be bored if you have nothing better to do than observe and criticize my clothing. –G_

_It’s no attempt to criticize, Gregory.  I am mere concerned for the exposure to illness you are offering yourself. –MH_

_Though perhaps I can admit to a bit of boredom.  The Prime Minister does like to talk one’s ear off.  –MH_

Greg laughed, grinning ear to ear and probably getting odd looks from the officers on the scene.  He was waiting for Sally to finish up retrieving one of their preliminary reports, before taking a look at the body.  He glanced up to see her talking with someone, jotting things down in the notebook she would no doubt bring over to him after.

 

_Ignoring the Prime Minster so you can spy on your boyfriend?  Tsk tsk Myc. –G_

_Spying is such a harsh choice of word, Gregory.  –MH_

Greg laughed again, glancing up as Sally finally made her way over.  He dropped the mobile back into his pocket, turning to her and getting to work. As they went over evidence, he heard the device chime again, but for now had to ignore it. The facts had made things a bit messier than it had looked originally, quickly tying the murder to a series of killings they’d been dealing with for about a month.  It was bloody well exhausting.

 

Later that day, as he departed the scene, he glanced at the text he had received earlier.

 

_Though do invest in some better winter wear.  –MH_

 

*

 

Another two weeks went by, the case got more complicated and messy, and London got colder.  Made him miss Sherlock.  Lord knows the detective would have been able to nail what he was apparently missing with this string of murders, but… well, he was dead, so Greg had to deal.

 

He was getting back into the Yard after being forced to stand outside for three hours straight.  He felt pretty frozen at this point.  Instantly he made straight for the freshly brewed pot of coffee sitting on a small table near the wall.  Thank heavens for small miracles there.

 

He tugged off his ragged gloves, stubbornly ignoring the fact that after an hour or so, they hadn’t done much good to keep his fingers from getting numb.  He shoved them in his coat pocket and made his coffee, sacrificing the taste for the needed warmth.  They really needed to invest in a better brew.

 

Sniffing, he rubbed at his nose with the back of his free hand, ignoring the way it had gotten so cold it threatened to run a bit. He headed into his office, content to spend the rest of the day warming up and doing some paperwork. It would be better than having to go back out in that mess.

 

As he stepped inside and nudged the office door shut slightly, Greg noticed the box sitting in the middle of his desk. He blinked curiously, licking his chapped lips as he walked around the room and to his chair, eyeing it closely. It was a pretty plain box, no bow, nothing apart from the small card taped to the top.  Setting his coffee down, he reached for it and pulled off the card to read.

 

**A Little Something**

 

He turned it over, pressing his lips together, looking for anything else.  That was all it said, though. The script was elegant; he recognized it... Putting it down, he sat in his chair before pulling off the top.  His eyes widened as he gazed at the contents.  Folded up was a dark green, almost grey scarf, patterned with black squares. It was a thick material, which was confirmed as he reached to touch it.  It felt pretty damn amazing.

 

He pulled it out, beginning to unfold it, only to discover the pair of black leather gloves sitting in the middle of it. He gaped even more, noticing the slightly fuzzy lining within them as well.  It only took him a few moments of staring at the garments to piece it all together.  Shaking his head and smiling softly, he pulled out his mobile.

 

_You didn’t have to, you know.  –G_

He gazed at them again as he waited for the reply. They were brilliant. He really couldn’t have done better on his own if he tried.

 

_I am aware, but I took the liberty because you had chosen not to do so yourself. I do hope they are to your liking. –MH_

Greg sighed, his smile widening even more. He tried the gloves on and draped the scarf around his neck, testing them out a bit.  He was amazed at how quickly the gloves seemed to erase the remainder of the chill that was in his hands, and the scarf was not heavy or itchy around his neck.  They were damn near perfect.  He pulled everything off again and leaned back in his chair, admiring the gifts for another moment.

 

_They’re perfect. –G_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that is the scarf and gloves you can see Greg wearing at the beginning of The Empty Hearse. Might not be entirely accurate on the color, but oh well, lol.


	313. Reunited

Greg was exhausted.  He knew the promotion was going to mean more work, and he was still damn grateful to finally be a sergeant, but he just really wanted to go get some sleep.  It had been just about time for that, too; he had been wrapping up the crime scene with his DI and was about to call it quits, when a damn druggie had made his way to the scene and started rambling off eerily accurate facts about what they’d uncovered.

 

He hadn’t seemed like a guilty party, but he was very high, so Greg was instructed to bring him in anyway.  He didn’t complain (he never did), but he groaned inwardly as he started to guide the addict over to the squad car, going through what he was required to as they walked.  The kid wasn’t listening.  Christ, and he really was a kid, wasn’t he?  They had stopped short of the car, facing each other, and sharp eyes stared at him.

 

It was unnerving.  Not only did it feel like the kid was looking right through him and seeing everything, there was an unsettling sense of familiarity to the gaze that he couldn’t quite place.  There was no time to think on it, though, as he headed back to New Scotland Yard and went through the process of booking him.

 

Turning him over to the officer at the desk, he wandered over to his station to fill out the necessary paperwork. He hated paperwork. It was one of the main things that had him reluctant to try for Detective Inspector himself, because he knew there would be even more of it.  Still, he wanted the job… and he was well on his way to get it, he was told. Quite a confidence booster. It was everything he’d been working towards for a long time now.

 

“I can’t take it anymore, I’m gonna kill the bloke!” PC Donovan snarled as she stormed out of holding, fists balled and teeth clenched. Greg blinked, staring up from where he was finishing off the last of his paperwork.

 

“What’s with you?” he asked, leaning back and tilting his head.  She groaned.

 

“That damn druggie kid you brought in,” she huffed, crossing her arms and glaring like it was _his_ fault the kid was here.  Greg just shrugged.  He’d learned long ago not to take Sally Donovan’s temper personally. “He’s so…. So RUDE. He’s a freak.”

 

“Hey Sal, that might be a bit uncalled for,” Greg started, but Sally was shaking her head furiously.

 

“He’s spouting off shite about all of us in holding, Greg,” she said. “It’s freaky.  He just _knows_ things. And he’s being so blunt I almost smacked him if I thought I could get away with it.”

 

“Sal-“

 

“You didn’t hear him,” she interrupted, pointing a finger at Greg.  He managed a soft smile. “You didn’t… UGH.  Good thing he’s getting bail.”

 

Greg blinked.  The kid was getting bail?  He pushed out of his seat, curious at how that was happening.  Damn fast, that was.  He passed Sally, wandering towards holding and noticing a tall, slender finger in what seemed to be a very expensive suit standing at the desk, signing some papers.  The druggie was standing next to him, though seemingly as far away as he could get away with, scowling.

 

“-and if you think I’m lying to Mummy again, you can think again, Sherlock,” the man was saying.  His voice was posh and smooth, sending a shiver down Greg’s spine. He couldn’t figure out why at first, but then… wait… did he say Sherlock?

 

“Holmes?” he asked out loud, causing both men to freeze and straighten. He swallowed, trying to wet his suddenly dry throat.  He knew that voice. No wonder the kid’s gaze seemed so familiar. The man in the suit turned, slowly, eyebrows raised as a similar pale set of eyes locked onto Greg’s.

 

“Gregory,” the man said, surprise popping onto his face briefly before it was brushed away just as quickly.

 

“Mycroft,” Greg breathed, his own surprise not so easy to mask.   Sherlock snorted.

 

“No wonder his stupid face looked familiar,” he muttered, shifting. “Let’s _go_ Mycroft, I have an experiment to finish.”

 

“Considering the circumstances, I’m not inclined to hurry you back to your experiment just yet,” Mycroft snapped, but his eyes didn’t leave Greg’s face.  The sergeant swallowed again, licking his lips nervously. 

 

He hadn’t seen Mycroft since uni. They had been so close… Of course that familiar flare of heat would surge through him again at the memories. They’d gotten close, intimate even, but then they graduated (Mycroft early, of course, because he was damn smart), and went into their different areas… Greg law enforcement and Mycroft politics… and they hadn’t seen each other since.

 

“Wow, I, uh…” Greg said, trying to curb his stammering. He was making a fool out of himself. “Didn’t expect this.”

 

“Indeed,” Mycroft said, head tilting to the side as he shifted, switching the umbrella in his hand over to the other. “Sergeant.”

 

“Mmm, yup,” he confirmed, rubbing the back of his head. He was fidgeting, and he knew it. “And you, ah…”

 

“Department of Transport,” Mycroft answered, smirking in almost amusement.  Sherlock snorted again next to his brother, but neither man paid him any mind for it.

 

“You look good,” he said, smiling now and taking a step forward. 

 

“As do you,” Mycroft returned, looking openly amused now.

 

“Oh for god’s sake, just make out or something so I can GO,” Sherlock groaned. “God, it’s been ten years and you two are still always making me wait while you have eye sex.”

 

“Sod off,” Greg snapped, slipping back into his younger self, only realizing as Mycroft started laughing that he’d done the exact same thing ten years ago, while a much younger and not drug-addled Sherlock had bounced on the balls of his feet, dying to escape from his brother’s supervision to go hang out with who he insisted was a very fascinating blond boy.

 

“Gregory,” Mycroft prompted as he quieted down. Greg was grinning brightly now. It was clear the younger man didn’t do that often, and yet he did just then anyway.  Well, some things never changed. “How would you like to go get coffee?  An apology for having to put up with Sherlock when you were obviously about to be off work.”

 

Greg opened his mouth, about to ask how he knew that, but just shook his head.  Those Holmeses… they always knew.  Coffee, huh? Well, he couldn’t say no to that, nor could he ignore the heat still simmering in his gut.

 

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Sounds great.”


	314. It's Classified

Being a Detective Inspector in New Scotland Yard made Greg no stranger to having to keep secrets.  Cases could be a very sensitive thing, especially depending on the nature of the investigation and those involved, and classified information could easily become common.  He broke enough rules letting Sherlock and John get involved, admittedly. It also left there little he could discuss when people asked how his day was, depending on whatever case he was working.

 

Usually once it was wrapped up or it was clear there wouldn’t be any kind of trial, the locks and secrecy eased up. Obviously they couldn’t go around discussing every method and step they took and revealing a bunch of the inner workings of the Yard, but being able to talk about the case wasn’t forbidden anymore. It brought a form of relief with it.

 

Greg didn’t come to understand true classified information and secrecy until he started dating Mycroft Holmes.

 

He knew going in how much would have to be kept from him.  While he had a bit more clearance than most people, it didn’t do him much good for a lot of the work Mycroft did.  Of course he insisted he was in the Department of Transportation, and maybe that’s technically the kind of job title he held, but it was so much more than that. Greg wasn’t stupid. Mycroft could deny that he was James Bond any day of the week, but Greg knew.

 

James Bond without the fieldwork, thank Christ. Mycroft took liberties with what he told him at the dinner table, or as they were lying in each other’s arms, but it didn’t really give any better insight into what he had to deal with every day. Sometimes Greg wasn’t even allowed to know where he would go when he travelled. 

 

Over half the time Mycroft had to leave the room to take phone calls.  Greg didn’t have access to the majority of what was on the younger man’s laptop, and had to have special badges and clearance codes to even visit him at one of his multiple offices.

 

For the most part, it didn’t bother him. He understood. Besides, Mycroft had never been anything but transparent over the fact that in their relationship, this would be an aspect there could not be much discussion about.  It would go both ways, usually, except that Mycroft was high enough in the government that he knew all the details of every case anyway. It made that part a bit relieving, because at least Greg could unload to him about his cases no matter what, but he unfortunately could not return the favor.

 

It became clear after a while that it was a bit exhausting for the older man.  It would never affect their relationship as a whole, of course, but still… Greg wished he could know more.  He wished that when he asked a question, Mycroft could answer it freely instead of pressing his lips together thinly as his mind raced over all the facts and picked out the minor bits he might be able to say.

 

He knew Mycroft didn’t like keeping everything from him just as much as Greg didn’t.  It bothered him most when it involved him having to leave the country. Most of the time, he was apparently in meetings all day every day, but couldn’t say a damn thing about them most of the time.  It caused a barrier, and Greg hated it.

 

One morning, as he wandered into the kitchen to make coffee, Mycroft set his newspaper down on the table, kissed him on the temple, before having to leave for the day.  Greg smiled as he carried his steaming mug over, grateful for the usual routine. As he lifted his paper, though, he blinked as he noticed something slightly different than normal.

 

**British drones carry out first strikes against Isil in Iraq**

 

He’d recalled hearing stuff about the drones on the news recently, discussion about plans as they could be revealed, blah blah blah.  That wasn’t what caught his eye about it, though.  The passage had been circled.  Greg licked his lips, thinking for a moment.

 

Why was it circled?

 

The trend continued.  Every morning his paper was waiting for him, and every morning there were passages circled.  It only took a few days to realize what was happening.  Mycroft was circling them.  Yes, he’d figured that out almost immediately, but the why is what dawned on him in the middle of the week as he read a few passages relating to recent UN meetings.

 

Mycroft was circling them because they had to do with things he had been doing recently.

 

Greg broke out into a grin, biting his bottom lip. Mycroft still couldn’t really _talk_ about his work, but he was doing this as a way to let Greg know what he had been doing recently. He was quietly letting Greg in on the ideas of what he might have his hands in at any given time.

 

Greg’s chest swelled with pride and adoration. Reaching for his mobile, he fired off a quick text.

 

_Interesting read in my paper this morning.  –G_

_Yes, I thought it might be. –MH_

To anyone else, it was nothing. But to them… that small exchange spoke volume.  It made Greg feel a hell of a lot better, that was for sure.


	315. You Need Help

Greg couldn’t sleep.  He hadn’t gotten more than probably three hours and night, and even that got interrupted at least once or twice.  He was running on fumes and all he did was throw himself even more into his work.  It probably wasn’t healthy; no, he _knew_ it wasn’t, but it was his instinct and it’s what he did.  He’d done it after the divorce, he’d done it when he thought Sherlock was dead, and he was doing it now.

 

There were dangers to the job, ones he’d been aware of since day one.  You ran the risk of encountering some real nutters.  He’d had his fair share over the course of his career, but this bloke had taken the cake.  It had been bad enough that he’d somehow gotten the upper hand on Greg (no matter how many times he replayed it in his head he couldn’t figure out where he went wrong) and taken him hostage.  Bad had escalated to a bit worse when the bloke got spooked on top of crazy and ended up giving Greg a concussion.  Worse turned into “you’ve got to be bloody kidding me” when he was _then_ locked in a trunk for what Sally said was at least two hours.

 

It had been the biggest mess. Greg wasn’t claustrophobic, but that very nearly made him.  He’d never quite been in a situation like that, and if it hadn’t been for the concussion causing him to try and remain awake he would have preferred to just pass out so he wouldn’t have had to deal with the panic of cramped spaces and slowly running out of air.

 

They’d put him in the hospital overnight for observation.  He’d slept then, because of the pain medications they were IVing him.  He was released the following morning on the instructions to take a few days off and recover.  He insisted he was fine, but they made him take at least two days.

 

Those two days he hardly slept. He just couldn’t get tired. Every time he started getting drowsy, he felt his chest constrict and he couldn’t breathe.  It sent him spiraling into a minor panic attack and pulled him back into waking.  He drank a lot of coffee. It probably didn’t help his state of mind, but it kind of helped keep him fueled and moving, which was all that mattered.

 

After those two days he forced himself back to work. He let it consume him. There was hardly anything for him at home and he didn’t want to be home alone, so he worked.  When they forced him to leave for a few hours, he went to Mycroft’s.  The older man wasn’t there, as he was stuck in meetings in another country, but Greg couldn’t stand to be in his own flat.  At Mycroft’s, he got sleep.  Sleep, however, brought the nightmares with it.

 

They varied, and most of the time he couldn’t even remember them, but it kept him from getting more than three hours of sleep a night. Once they woke him up he couldn’t get back to sleep.  It was _awful_.

 

Mycroft returned to London as quickly as he could, Greg knew.  That first night back Greg fell asleep in his arms, and slept soundly.  He felt amazingly refreshed the next morning, and hoped that it was all it had taken to jump-start and put the shit behind him. He wanted to function again, and he wanted the nightmares to stop.

 

A few days later they returned. He would jolt awake and scrambled to get out of bed, only calming slightly when slender hands were stopping him and pulling him close, Mycroft whispering gentle and affectionate words and holding him close. He gripped the man’s pale arms, gasping and trembling.  Some nights he could be coaxed back to sleep and kisses, and others he just couldn’t relax again.

 

“Gregory…” Mycroft muttered gently one night, stroking his hair and kissing his bare shoulder.  Greg bit his lap, breathing hard and sweating.

 

“I’m fine,” he croaked, withdrawing into himself a bit and staring at the duvet.  He could never bear to look Mycroft in the eyes, couldn’t stand to see whatever expression he might have… or leave himself open to read like a bloody book.

 

“You are not,” Mycroft whispered firmly, yet gently. “I really believe you need to-“

 

Greg shook his head and clenched his fists. This was not the first time they’d gone over this.  Mycroft kept suggesting they find a solution, get him help, like there was something actually wrong, like he…

 

“Gregory, you are experiencing minor symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.”

 

“I do not have PTSD,” he snapped.

 

“Gregory…” Mycroft sighed, and the older man turned to look at him then. “I am merely suggesting-“

 

“As you have suggested before,” Greg said, frowning. “And I have declined.  I don’t need help, Mycroft.  I wish you would stop.”

 

“I am concerned about you.”

 

“Well stop.”

 

He realized it was harsh.  He heard himself snap.  He watched the brief flicker of shocked reaction flash across Mycroft’s face before it was smoothed away.  He couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t stop himself from getting out of bed, breathing heavily, and grabbing a blanket.

 

“Gregory, where are you going?” Mycroft asked.

 

“Sofa,” was all he said, and he left the room.

 

It hadn’t been fair of Greg to react that way, but he wasn’t thinking in terms of fairness.  He was angry, he was frustrated and exhausted, and he just… had to get away. He couldn’t quite bring himself to go back to his own flat, but he fell onto the sofa and curled up, covering himself completely with the blanket he had grabbed and attempted to fall back into some sort of doze. 

 Alone.


	316. Come Back To Bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course I couldn't leave yesterday's drabble at that. Here's the continuation. <3

_It was dark. He couldn’t breathe. It felt like a ton of weights was pressing down against his chest, but when he felt, there was nothing. He gasped for air, his eyes watering as he reached out to grab… anything.  His arms flailed through the air, hitting nothing.  His heart was pounding in his ears._

_A box. There was a box. He could see it. He gasped, groaning and trying to move, but he was frozen.  No. He couldn’t go back in there. Please no._

_He opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out.  Always nothing.  He knew what was coming. He’d be trapped, never to get out. He’d suffocate. He could never get away. He always tried, and he couldn’t…_

_His eyes widened, the scenery changing.  Sudden brightness caused him to cover his eyes, gritting his teeth as pain flooded his body. He was being pushed, and he tried to cry out again, failing.  Please, anything but that damn place…_

_“Gregory!”_

_Panic froze the blood in his veins.  No. Nononononononono. Not Mycroft.  NOT._

_“NO!” he cried out, his voice broken, as Mycroft was trapped in a see-through box. Broken, battered, naked, bleeding. “MYCROOO-“_

“-OOFT!!” Greg screamed, shooting up from where he had been curled up on the couch.  The blanket he had was flung off him, and he could feel the tears streaming down his cheeks.  He was shaking and gasping, eyes wide, and he couldn’t breathe…

 

“Gregory?” came Mycroft voice from behind him. Greg whimpered, spinning around to see the younger man coming into the living room from the direction of their bedroom, hair messy from sleep and eyes full of concern.

 

Greg wanted to get up, go over to him, feel his warmth… He needed reassurance that the man was actually there. The box… But he couldn’t move. He was shaking and breathing so hard he was sure he was on the verge of hyperventilating.

 

His partner was by his side instantly, dropping to his knees next to the sofa and reaching out to touch his bicep. Greg groaned at warmth of the touch, how solid and real it was, and immediately he reached out and latched onto him.  He buried his face in Mycroft’s neck, his sobs muffled as he clutched at his silk robe.

 

“I’m right here, Gregory,” Mycroft whispered, hugging him close and stroking his hair slowly. “You’re okay. It was just a dream. You’re safe.”

 

“B-but you…” Greg started to say, grasping at the man’s robe tighter, as if keeping him from moving even more.

 

“Gregory, take a deep breath,” Mycroft continued to say softly, pressing a kiss to his temple and continuing to stroke his hair. “You’re at home.  You’re with me. We’re together, and it’s okay. Just breathe.”

 

Greg gasped, trying to do what he said, trying to breathe.  He couldn’t. He…

 

“All right, love, with me,” Mycroft whispered. The younger man shifted, pulling Greg close gently and moving to sit more comfortably on the floor. He held Greg close, taking slow breaths. “Breathe with me.  Together, okay?”

 

Still shaking, Greg tried to focus on the movement of Mycroft’s chest against him.  He closed his eyes, trying to take slow, deep breaths with him. They were still uneven, and Greg shut his eyes tight, listening to Mycroft’s breaths and feeling his heartbeat and warmth.  He was there. They were together, just like he’d said. They were alive, and neither of them were in danger, and it was their living room.  Their flat.  It was just a nightmare.

 

Finally, Greg started breathing along with Mycroft. With every breath they took together a bit more tension started to seep out of his body.  He was still shaking, but he felt more normal, and it was just a nightmare.  He didn’t know how long they sat there, but not once did Mycroft shift uncomfortably or shift away. He held Greg close, only loosening his grip when the older man tried to sit up.

 

“Sorry,” he croaked, rubbing at his face and sighing heavily. “I’m… I’m okay, I…”

 

“Gregory, you’re not okay,” Mycroft whispered, eyes shifting hesitantly.  Greg looked at him.

 

“No, I’m not,” he admitted, sighing, and running a hand through his hair.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

 

“I… it was you,” Greg said after a moment, glancing down at where their legs were tangled together where they sat on the floor. “Not me.  But I could see… the box was see-through… You were dying.  You…”

 

“I’m here,” Mycroft repeated, cupping his cheek. “Gregory, come back to bed.  Please.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Greg choked, eyes welling up with tears again. “I’m just…”

 

“Just come to bed,” Mycroft repeated, leaning over and kissing his forehead. “We’ll sort it in the morning, okay? Together.”

 

Greg just nodded.  He was too shaken and too exhausted to protest.  In a daze, he let Mycroft help him up and guide him back to bed. He was scared to go back to sleep, but as he curled up against his partner and pressed his face into his chest, feeling those slender arms wrapping around his body, sleep came surprisingly easy.


	317. Hallelujah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this text post: http://i-am-greg-lestrade.tumblr.com/post/100666373275/greg-and-mycroft-dancing-together-the-laughter

Grinning, Greg wandered across the sitting room, iPod in hand.  He made it over to the sound system behind the telly and hooked the device up, turning it on and scrolling through some menus.

 

“What are you doing?” Mycroft asked, arching his eyebrows curiously.  Greg grinned at him from over his shoulder.

 

“Something,” he said, causing Mycroft to roll his eyes.

 

He navigated through to his selection of music and got it on shuffle.  He had a variety of American and British rock, some good punk, some instrumental… A whole variety really.  They had just had a wonderful dinner, and maybe Greg was the tiniest bit tipsy and feeling playful, but hey.  He was in love. Cheesy, yeah, but he didn’t give a shit. He was happy.

 

He turned and took a few steps forward, bouncing on the balls of his feet as music started playing.  His grin only widened at the amused look Mycroft shot him as he stood over near the sofa, watching.

 

“C’mon,” he said, attempting to wave the younger man forward as he bounced more noticeably.  Mycroft shook his head, remaining exactly where he was.

 

“You are ridiculous,” he commented, speaking over the guitar that was now playing.  Greg shook his head.

 

“ _Just take those old records on the shelf,”_ he sang along as the lyrics started, pointing over at Mycroft and bobbing his head.  Mycroft shook his again, smirking.  Greg stretched his arms out to the side. “ _I’ll sit and listen to ‘em by myself_.”

 

“Indeed you will,” Mycroft slipped the comment in.

 

“ _Today’s music ain’t got the same soul,_ ” Greg continued, wagging an index finger. “ _I like that old time rock n roll_.”

 

Greg spun in a small circle before taking a few steps back, continuing to sing along.  After he was far enough back, he leaned forward before hopping, sliding across the floor… and falling on his arse.

 

“Gregory!” Mycroft said, taking a few steps forward to make sure he was okay.  He fell short, however, as Greg burst out laughing.  Pale eyes lost their concern and narrowed slightly. “You are drunk.”

 

“Nah,” Greg waved, pushing himself up. “Hang on. Hang on, I got this. Watch.”

 

He broke back into singing and he got off the floor and turned, jogging out of the room.  Mycroft remained where he was, crossing his arms as he watched the direction that the older man disappeared to.  Then, as the chorus was in full swing, Greg ran back into the room, spreading his legs and singing as he slid across the floor again.  He started to cheer as he slid, before he sock got caught and sent him tumbling to the floor again.

 

Mycroft was unable to keep himself from laughing this time.  They both laughed, the noise ringing across the room and over the music.

 

“You are absolutely ridiculous, and you are going to break something,” Mycroft chuckled, walking over and reaching down to help him up.

 

“Cheers,” Greg grinned, before leaning in and stealing a quick kiss.

 

The next song made Greg get even more excited. He grabbed Mycroft hands and tugged him forward, swaying his hips in time with the music. He positioned them both so that they were standing next to each other, nodding to his rather confused partner before starting the dance.  Mycroft did not.

 

“Oh come on, love, surely you know the Macarena!” he said.  He didn’t even know _why_ it was on his iPod, but it was cool. He suspected his twelve-year-old daughter had something to do with it, though.  Mycroft shook his head. “Well, watch me then.”

 

He repositioned them so they were facing each other, and Greg began performing the arm motions.  He wiggled his hips where it was needed, finding the most insanely dramatic way to shift them, and smirking as that was all Mycroft was watching. His expression was equal parts confused and fascinated, and while Greg couldn’t ever coax him into joining, it was a blast nonetheless.

 

Greg excused himself to get some water after that, getting a bit dry in the throat from the dancing and the wine he’d had beforehand. He sang along with the Clash song that had come on, grabbing cold water from the fridge and taking a huge drink before going to make his way back in as the song was finishing.

 

The mood shifted as the next song came on. The music was slower, softer, and Greg slowed to a stop right inside the entrance to the sitting room. Mycroft looked at him, his expression completely open and almost… shy?

 

_I heard there was a secret chord_

_That David played and he pleased the Lord_

_But you don’t really care for music, do you?_

 

Greg smiled softly as Mycroft lifted a hand, gesturing for him to come over.  Licking his lips, Greg carefully made his way over.

 

_It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth,_

_The minor fall and the major lift_

_The baffled king composing Hallelujah_

 

Greg reached out as he got closer as well, drawing in a soft breath as their fingers touched.  Warmth spread through his arm immediately, and he bit his lip. His heart was pounding, and the air in the room had gone from goofy and excited to extremely intimate.

 

_Hallelujah…_

 

They stepped closer to each other, Greg threading their fingers together and squeezing gently.  Mycroft drew closer until their chests pressed against each other, and Greg wrapped his other arm around the taller man’s waist. He looked up, brown eyes locking with Mycroft’s pale ones, their noses inches apart.

 

_Your faith was strong but you needed proof_

_You saw her bathing on the roof,_

_Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you_

_She tied you to a kitchen chair,_

_She broke your throne, she cut your hair,_

_And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah_

 

Licking his lips, Greg took a slight step to the side, swaying their bodies gently.  Mycroft blinked, and squeezed their joined hands, taking them back in the opposite direction.  They stood there, in the middle of their sitting room, swaying back and fourth together.

 

_Hallelujah…_

 

Greg let out a shaking breath, the tips of their noses touching.  They were dancing. It wasn’t something they had done before, not like this, and he was flustered.  He felt the intensity of it all, and he felt like he was about to burst. Mycroft’s eyes fluttered over his face, taking everything in, and they were both aware as they were gradually drifting closer and closer to each other.

 

_Maybe I have been here before_

_I know this room, I’ve walked this floor,_

_I used to live alone before I knew you_

_I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch_

_Love is not a victory march_

_It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah_

Mycroft’s free hand moved up to cup Greg’s cheek gently.  He leaned into the touch, breaking their gaze long enough to shut his eyes and bask in the gentleness of the touch.  He hummed, breathing in deep and blinking his eyes open again as he felt Mycroft gently pushing his face back so they were looking at each other again.  The distance was closed between them, and their lips brushed against each other.  The feeling sent a jolt of heat through Greg’s gut and he whimpered, practically clutching to the back of Mycroft’s suit jacket.

 

_There was a time you let me know_

_What’s really going on below_

_But now you never show it to me, do you?_

_And I remember when I moved in you,_

_The holy dark was moving too_

_And every breath we drew was Hallelujah_

 

Moving back just a fraction, eyes darkened with intensity and arousal, Greg took a few steps forward. This caused Mycroft to step backwards, and slowly they moved across the room, navigating safely past the furniture. They only stopped when Mycroft’s back thumped against the wall.  Both of them were breathing harder than expected, their hands still clutching each other. Greg licked his lips, moving the hand that had been around his partner’s waist to press against the wall and support himself.

 

Mycroft turned slightly, one of his arms bracing back against the wall as well.  Somehow, in this positioning, Greg was the one staring down at Mycroft. He pressed a hand against the man’s side, feeling a slender hand moving up to settle along his neck and play with his hair, pulling him down for a more passionate kiss.

 

_Maybe there’s a God above_

_And all I ever learned from love_

_Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you_

_And it’s not a cry you can hear at night_

_It’s not somebody who’s seen the light_

_It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah_

 

Their lips pressed together again and again, moving together flawlessly.  Mycroft’s grip tightened in Greg’s hair, causing him to gasp softly against his mouth as he pressed closer.  He slipped one of his legs in between Mycroft’s, hand moving down his side and slipping under his waistcoat, pushing the garment up.  He could feel the warmth of Mycroft’s skin, still covered by his dress shirt, and he could feel the heat in his gut and his groin. 

 

It was more than passion.  It was more than desire.  This was love.  This was everything.

_Hallelujah…_


	318. Blind Date

This girl was gorgeous.  It had been a while since Greg had been on a date with someone this pretty.  Angela was tall and curvy, had fiery red hair that went down to her waist, and bright green eyes. Her smile was rather infectious, and she wore just enough makeup to compliment her skin tone.

 

Sally had set them up on this date. She’d been trying to for ages, and Greg finally agreed just so she’d stop asking.  He _hated_ blind dates, no matter how much his sergeant assured that he’d get on with her greatly. They had apparently been flatmates back in college, and still got together quite frequently.

 

She was a painter, and she loved rock music, and had two cats.  Conversation had come surprisingly easy between them as they waited for their food, and they were sharing a bottle of white wine, and it was comfortable.

 

“So Sal said you were DI, yeah?” she was asking, leaning on her elbows on the table.

 

“Yup,” he nodded with a smile.

 

“That’s awesome,” she grinned. “Very impressive. I’ve seen your name in the papers a few times, you all just finished a big one if I remember correctly.”

 

Greg nodded, and started going into a bit of detail about the case.  He kept some of the more gruesome details out, of course, because they were about to eat dinner. She seemed genuinely interested in hearing what he had to say about it, though, so it encouraged him to actually keep talking.

 

There was something missing, though. Sure, they were able to keep up pretty good conversation throughout the night, and they had enough in common to keep each other’s interest, but… it didn’t sit right.  It didn’t quite make sense, not in a way he could place. She was gorgeous and sweet, and by any rights the best blind date he’d ever been on.

 

So through it all, why did the drive home seem awkward?

 

He was familiar enough with dates to know how this part was supposed to go.  They had clicked enough that a kiss at the doorstep seemed to be the natural next step. She was leaned casually closer in the car on the way, not touching but almost, but Greg just… didn’t feel any sort of flutter he expected he should.  There wasn’t something drawing him to her.

 

He sighed softly through his nose as they both got out of the car, and he escorted her up to the door.

 

“Tonight was nice, Greg,” she smiled, reaching out and squeezing his forearm gently. “Thank you.”

 

“It was,” he nodded.  It had been a nice night.  It just wasn’t…

 

“We should do it again some time,” she suggested.

 

“Yeah, sounds good.”

 

Silence fell between them for a moment, and Greg knew this was the moment.  He just couldn’t. His mind had shifted elsewhere, thinking of the reactions that he thought he should have with her that he wasn’t. Reactions that he had with…

 

Leaning over, he pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, squeezing her hand gently.  If she was too disappointed, she hid it well.  Instead, she just smiled at him and squeezed his hand back, before turning to unlock her door.

 

“Good night, Greg,” she said.

 

“Good night, Angela,” he replied, brushing his hand against the small of her back before she entered her flat and shut the door with a final smile to him.  Turning, he exhaled as he went back down to his car.  As he climbed in, he fiddled with his mobile, rubbing the edge of it and staring at the small screen.

 

The entire date, he found himself thinking about similar dinners he’d had with Mycroft Holmes.  He had told himself he wasn’t going to think about it, but… he found himself comparing the two almost constantly.  Angela had never seemed to take note of his distraction, thankfully.  However, it was this comparison that made Greg realize something he hadn’t wanted to.

 

When Mycroft smiled and laughed softly at his jokes, Greg felt a clenching in his chest.  When Mycroft talked, Greg was absorbed in it entirely. Greg was drawn to everything Mycroft had to say, and everything he did.  Angela was gorgeous and sweet, but Mycroft was on a whole different level.

 

Bloody hell.  He was in trouble.  Groaning, he leaned forward and thumped his forehead on the steering wheel.  He was in love with Mycroft Holmes.  Bollocks.  Pressing his lips together tightly, he sat up again and stared down at his mobile. Well, if the blind date had done anything, it was giving him courage he might come to regret in the morning.

 

_Hey, if you’re not busy, would you like to grab a drink?  -G_

 

_I have actually just finished up.  Did you want to come to mine, or was there a place you had in mind?  -MH_

Greg licked his lips.

 

_Yours would be fine.  See you in ten? -G_

_Sounds lovely, I’ll fetch the whiskey.  –MH_

He had no clue what to expect, but he had a feeling that by the time the night was over, things would be different. He was going to take the step. Tonight made him realize that there was something big there, something he couldn’t ignore. Tonight showed him that he just needed to bite the bullet and go for it.

 

It might end horribly.  He hoped not.  But he drove across London with some unexpected courage in his heart.


	319. Hat Show

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is so stupid, lol XD

“Y’know, I’ve never seen you wear a hat,” Greg said randomly one night, as he and Mycroft were stretched out along the sofa together. Mycroft hummed from where his head was rested on Greg’s chest, only halfway paying attention to the news report on the telly.

 

“Where did that come from?” he asked curiously, lifting his head to glance at his partner.  Greg shrugged.

 

“Dunno, just… I saw that bloke on the telly wearing one and just realized I’d never seen you in one,” Greg said, motioning at the television lazily. “Do you ever wear hats?”

 

“Not really,” Mycroft commented. “They’re never something that really suits my outfit choices, so I do not see the point in them unless I absolutely have to.”

 

“Have to?” Greg asked, tilting his head. He couldn’t think of anything that would necessarily require a hat.  Except his PC days where a hat was part of their uniform.

 

“Mmm, undercover work and such.”

 

  1.   That explained it.  Greg hummed curiously as Mycroft lowered his head again, resting against his body comfortably. They fell quiet again, and Greg lazily played with the hair against the back of Mycroft’s neck as they finished the report before turning it off so they could head to bed.



 

For some reason, Greg kept thinking about it, though. Mycroft wearing hats. Greg wasn’t someone who particularly loved hats or anything, but he couldn’t deny he was curious. As they curled up under the covers and drifted off to sleep, a plan was forming in his mind.

 

*

 

He was mental.  This was an absurd idea and he’d be lucky if Mycroft actually agreed to go along with it.  He had just spent the past few days gathering up a bunch of stuff for a random urge he’d had, and thankfully the younger man wasn’t home just yet as he stepped into their flat with a bag full of hats.

 

Yes, he had gathered up hats. He hardly paid for any of them, and the ones he did were cheap, but he just had to satisfy the curiosity that had settled in him since their conversation the other night.

 

Heading into the bedroom, he dropped the bag on the bed and wandered over to their closet.  He had to dig a bit, but finally he found his old PC uniform hat and grinned in victory.  Before standing, something else caught his eye, and he hummed in interest as he pulled out a fuzzy hat he’d never seen before.  He turned it over in his hands, rubbing his thumbs along the incredibly warm material. The hell?  Well, this was certainly going in the pile. He stood, shutting the closet door and dropping it down with the rest.

 

All that was left was to wait. Once Mycroft got home he would attempt to coax him into the bedroom for a bit of show.  He didn’t have to wait long, though.  After fixing a cuppa and throwing on an Arsenal game, he heard the front door as the other man arrived home.  Grinning, he turned the telly off and hopped off the sofa.

 

“Welcome home, love,” he greeted with a grin, one that caused Mycroft to arch his eyebrows.

 

“Thank you,” Mycroft said a bit cautiously. “You clearly have something in mind, Gregory.”

 

“You got me,” he shrugged, chuckling. “C’mere.”

 

He reached out after Mycroft had hung up his coat and set his briefcase and umbrella down, threading their fingers together and leading him through to their bedroom.  Letting go, he headed over to the bed and grabbed his PC hat, holding it out in front of him as he turned.

 

“Oh dear lord,” Mycroft sighed, shaking his head. “Really?”

 

“Oh come on,” Greg pleaded a bit, leaning forward. “I wanna see.  Just a few?”

 

Mycroft was silent, regarding Greg and the hat for a moment.  He could tell that Mycroft thought the idea was absurd, and maybe it was a little, he just was so curious. He could also tell that Mycroft’s resolve was crumbling a bit.  It was _his damn eyes_ , he had been told more than once.  Greg grinned. He knew he was winning. Even if it was just a few, he’d be satisfied.

 

“Fine,” Mycroft sighed, reaching forward and grabbing the hat. “But no pictures.”

 

“Okay,” Greg agreed, laughing. Mycroft sighed again and turned the hat over in his hands.

 

“This is yours,” he deduced.  Greg nodded.

 

“Yup.”

 

“I think I’d prefer to see you wear it,” Mycroft smirked.

 

“Later,” Greg promised, winking. “Come on now.”

 

Mycroft shook his head, sighing, even though he was smiling softly.  Greg’s grin only brightened as the younger man took the hat and dropped it onto his head. They glanced at each other, and Greg bounced unconsciously on the balls of his feet.  Yeah, that looked great.  Complete with the expression that showed Mycroft was only just humoring him, it was fantastic.  Yeah, this had been a bloody good idea.

 

A dark grey fedora was next, one that looked really fucking good with the suit Mycroft was currently wearing. Greg desperately wanted a picture of that one, but he refrained.  It was sexy as hell.  He was distracted for a few moments before replacing it with a flatcap, which just made him snort out a laugh.  Mycroft was way too posh for it, that was for sure.

 

The top hat earned an eye roll and the baseball cap earned a flat out glare.  Finally, Greg reached for the fuzzy hat he’d found and lifted it up, tilting his head.

 

“So where’s this one from?” he asked. “S’not mine, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen it before.”

 

“Ah, that one,” Mycroft nodded, reaching out and taking it. “Yes, I wore this when I had to go undercover to retrieve Sherlock from Serbia. When he was “dead”. This was a common hat the soldiers wore, as well as being extremely practical for the weather.”

 

Greg opened his mouth, but found he didn’t actually have anything to say.  Mycroft, however, just tugged the hat one.  The quiet air between them got upbeat again, and Greg grinned as he gazed at the younger man wearing the fuzzy hat.  It was ridiculous and adorable.

 

Stepping forward, Greg reached up and cupped Mycroft’s cheeks.  They gazed at each other, before Greg pressed up on the balls of his feet and kissed him gently.

 

“Thank you,” he whispered, for the hats. But it was more than that, too. Mycroft just nodded, and Greg knew that he knew.  He always knew.

 

“Why don’t we cook dinner?” Mycroft suggested just as softly.

 

Greg nodded, reaching up higher to take the hat off. He tossed it on the bed, and turned to kiss Mycroft again sweetly, before they headed into the kitchen.


	320. Giving Orders

“Get the area roped off, get those people out of here now!” Gregory was commanding, gesturing to the bystanders that were getting a bit too close to their body and motioning to the surrounding area to be blocked off so they could conduct their investigation.  Mycroft stood off to the side, hovering near his black car, watching curiously.

 

They had been at a nearby coffee shoppe, enjoying a warm drink on a chilly afternoon, when Gregory had gotten the call that there was a body.  Mycroft, not yet ready for them to part, offered to drive him over.  There was no sense in having him walk, not when the car could easily take him, and it hadn’t taken much convincing.  They finished their drinks, holding hands in the car on the way over, and now Mycroft was watching his partner in his element.

 

“Donovan?” Gregory was calling, glancing around. Sergeant Sally Donovan stepped up a few moments later. “Eyewitness statements?”

 

“Gathering up the last of them now, Boss.”

 

“Right, finish that and then run point on the perimeter, make sure it gets properly blocked off.  Check the surrounding areas and start gathering evidence. I need to take a look at that body.”

 

Mycroft leaned forward against his umbrella, eyes glued to the back of the older man as he gave Sally her orders. The woman gave him a curt nod and then was off, shouting her own sets of orders to some of the PCs that were taking care of the basics.

 

“I need forensics!” Gregory hollered, striding across the area and over to the body.  His coat billowed out behind him slightly as he moved with purpose.

 

Mycroft shifted from one foot to the other. It was not the first time he had observed Gregory working, and he knew it would certainly not be the last. It was a rather breathtaking thing to behold, though.  It was clear how the man had become such a successful Detective Inspector, and not as much of the credit belonged to Sherlock as some people liked to think.

 

Gregory was confident and controlled the area with his voice and movements, making it clear he was not to be messed with. He was in charge, and what he said is what occurred.  It was amazing. It was arousing.

 

Mycroft couldn’t deny the carnal way his body reacted to observing his partner like this.  It was absurd to have such a lack of control over his own reactions at times, but thankfully he was good enough at obscuring things and was far off enough that no one would notice.  He sighed, licking his lips and leaning against the car slightly.

 

Gregory was no longer alone next to the body, Sally having joined him again and two men suited up, one with a camera, moving around as well.  He was far enough away now that Mycroft couldn’t make out every word that was being said, but he could still hear Gregory’s confident voice continuing to command everyone’s actions.

 

Closing his eyes and focusing on that tone of voice, Mycroft let his mind wander.  Perhaps it would have been best to get back in the car, but he remained where he stood, thinking of Gregory being that commanding in _other_ situations.  He hummed to himself, smirking slightly.

 

He opened his eyes again as he heard footsteps approach, watching Gregory finally making his way back over. His pale eyes flashed, running up and down his body, which made the older man hesitate just briefly before coming to stand in front of him.

 

“Sorry that took a bit longer than I planned, but I’m off for now,” he said, smiling brightly. “Sal’s letting us get back to it for a while before I need to go in.”

 

“Mmm, good,” Mycroft commented softly. “Get in the car.”

 

Gregory blinked in surprise, but the two of them did just that.  As soon as the door was shut and silence surrounded them, Mycroft reached over and tugged the other man close, slamming their lips together in a rough kiss.  Gregory made a noise of surprise that turned into a groan as Mycroft started sucking on his bottom lip hard.

 

“Mycroft,” he gasped against his lips, gripping tightly at the suit coat. “Where’d this come from?”

 

“Watching you,” Mycroft muttered, nipping at Gregory’s jaw and getting more gasps and shudders in return. “Out there. Commanding.”

 

“Oh, you liked that, huh?” Gregory asked, his voice husky now. “Then shut up and get on my lap.”

 

He’d taken on that solid, commanding tone again, making it easy to tell that it was not something that was up for negotiation. Mycroft shuddered, biting on his bottom lip as he did just that.  Straddling Gregory’s lap, he grabbed the man’s wrists and pinned them down before attacking his neck.

 

“Fuck, Mycroft,” Gregory gasped, arching up into him. “Take me home.  Now.”

 

“Certainly,” Mycroft huffed, rocking their hips together and causing both of them to moan before leaning back to knock of the dividing window in the car.  They started kissing again roughly, barely noticing as the car began moving and driving them towards home.


	321. Embarrassing Moments

“You ever thought about marriage?” Greg blurted out one night, as they were relaxing on the sofa after dinner. He couldn’t even begin to say what actually spurred him to mention the topic out loud.  It wasn’t really something they had ever discussed, but it would have been a lie for Greg to say he didn’t think about it.

 

Mycroft blinked, lowering his cup of tea and turning to glance at him.  Greg shifted on the couch, licking his lips as he sat up a bit straighter. The younger man’s reaction was not what Greg had hoped for.  His reaction was… nothing.  Sometimes Greg still had a hard time getting a read on him, and his expression didn’t really change, and it made him start to panic inwardly.

 

“Marriage?” Mycroft said finally. His head tilted to the side just a fraction, but his expression didn’t change.  Greg ran his hand through his hair and scratched the back of his head.

 

“Yeah, um,” he started, pressing his lips together. “You n’ me.  Getting married.”

 

“Gregory, are you trying to propose to me?”

 

“Bollocks,” Greg cursed, his hand dropping onto his lap. “Not… like this?  No. Not to say I hadn’t thought about it, but.  It was just a question. I actually dunno what caused me to blurt it out, really.”

 

“But you are saying that you think about getting married to me,” Mycroft said, pale eyes shifting across his face, reading him. Greg wished he could do the same. None of this gave any insight to the man’s reaction.

 

“Of course,” he muttered, shrugging. He glanced down at his hands, sighing through his nose slightly.  Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything.  Done it properly.  An actual proposal.

 

“Why exactly would you want to?” Mycroft asked sharply, and his question cutting through Greg’s thoughts and had them screeching to a halt.

 

“W-what?” he asked, blinking.

 

“Why would you want to marry me?” Mycroft repeated, his tone sounding somewhat surprised. “After the mess you’ve had to go through in the past, why would attempting it again be worth it? Surely you went through quite enough trouble with your ex-wife.”

 

Greg stared.  His jaw bloody dropped.  The reaction was not only insanely unexpected, but it was so… harsh.  Mycroft’s expression was completely devoid of feeling, his eye piercing and analyzing, and Greg felt heat build up in his cheeks. He huffed, chewing on his bottom lip, and finally had to tear his gaze away and stare down at the floor.

 

“Yeah,” he muttered after a few moments of silence. “Yeah, you’re right.  How stupid of me. Forget I said anything.”

 

Swallowing, he pushed himself to his feet and clenched his fists, before walking across the sitting room.  He couldn’t bring himself to look at his partner. He was not only horribly embarrassed, but also pretty hurt.  He knew Mycroft loved him, and maybe marriage just wasn’t something the man wanted for them. It didn’t make their relationship any less real.  It never would.

 

That didn’t temper the irrational pain that was flooding through him.  Fight or flight response took over, and he preferred flight because he just couldn’t shout. It would blow over. He just needed a moment. Crossing his arms, he stared out of their window, watching the few cars that drove by below.

 

“Gregory,” came Mycroft’s voice, soft, from behind him. He tensed, not sure if he was ready to turn around.  It was only when a slender hand barely settled on his shoulder that he took a deep breath and turned slightly.

 

“S’nothing,” he shrugged, shaking his head at the look on Mycroft’s face.  Now he was showing expression.

 

“Gregory, that was perhaps the incorrect reaction,” he continued.  Greg swallowed and glanced up.

 

“No, gut reactions are usually pretty spot on,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair and stepping out of the touch just slightly. “Forget it.  You’re right, I just… Guess I just got caught up in the thought of it.  But it’s fine.  We don’t need-“

 

“Gregory, would you listen to me?” Mycroft sighed impatiently, raising his eyebrows.  Greg swallowed and sighed, but nodded. “I am not saying I’m counting out the possibility of it happening between us.  I will admit it’s never something I have considered before. However, that was before you came along. It’s foolish to think that we need rings and a piece of paper to prove who we are to one another, but I more than understand the convention behind the ritual.  It’s clearly something you have thought about more than once, and I am in no way discounting it.”

 

Greg watched him, swallowing again nervously. He took a deep breath and nodded a bit.

 

“My initial surprise was perhaps the wrong way to broach the subject with you,” Mycroft continued. “And for that, I apologize. I realize how that came across, and that was not my intention.  Why don’t we ignore that initial reaction and revisit the subject again soon, all right? Come sit back down with me.”

 

Greg glanced down, seeing where Mycroft was reaching out for him.  He regarded the offer for a moment, before nodding again and taking the slender hand. Their fingers were threaded together, and they made their way back over to the sofa.  After sitting down, Mycroft wrapped his arm around Greg’s shoulder and gently pulled him closer.

 

“I do feel we need to go on record and say it though,” Mycroft said after a moment, amusement evident in his voice. “That would have been a rather awful proposal.”

 

Greg snorted, unable to keep from grinning as he looked over at his partner.  The younger man’s face was full of affection and teasing now, and it lifted his heart, making a bubble of laughter burst out of him.

 

“Yeah I know, leave it to me to be entirely unromantic about it,” he sighed. “Good thing I wasn’t actually going for it.”

 

Mycroft hummed in response, leaning in and cupping Greg’s cheek before kissing him softly.  Greg returned the kiss happily, feeling his heart lift and the embarrassing moment starting to slip behind them.

 

He knew he would ask Mycroft to marry him one day. It was going to happen. And he was going to make damn sure to get it perfect.


	322. Love Letters

Life could be classified as a series of moments, a series of memories, of snapshots… Always moments.  It was something Greg was a bit familiar with in regards to his children, because snapshots and moments were the only way to hang on to the minor things when your little girls were growing way too fast.

 

Work could also be considered as a series of moments. It was one of the better ways to stay sane in his line of duty.  Even the best cop ran the risk of the job getting to him or her in a bad way, and they all had nightmares.  It was what you did surrounding it that kept you going.  That was the important part; the part he tried to teach and show his team as often as he could.

 

He had never really thought of a relationship in this same kind of series of moments before.  Sure, the standout moments happened, but in comparison, it had never really been the same.  Every relationship he’d had were arching experiences that did build off each other, but not in the stable way that bode well for the two of them involved.  The big things might have been there, for the most part, but there were no little things. 

 

Then there was Mycroft Holmes. Mycroft… he brought with him the little things.

 

Neither of them had really planned to get into one of these habits they were now in.  It had started out simple, a goofy way that Greg wanted to show his love on a particularly stressing week for the politician.  He had grabbed a post-it note, scribbled on it, and stuck it to the inside of Mycroft’s briefcase, knowing he would find it sometime later in the day and hoped it would give him a smile.

 

**Take a moment to close your eyes and think about Paris.  You, me, naked, strawberries.  And know I’m thinking the same.  –G**

 

Referencing their most recent holiday away, which were too far in between, had worked.  The text he had received around lunchtime after Mycroft had found the note warmed him from head to toe, and even though he couldn’t see the younger man, he was confident he was smiling.

 

Thus, it began.

 

_I realized yesterday morning that when the sunlight hits your hair while you are still sleeping, the silver that shines is more radiant than any precious metal. –MH_

**Loving you is one of the greatest wonders in the universe.  –G**

_Just when I think I have you figured out, you continue to surprise me. You are enchanting in every way I never thought I needed.  –MH_

**When you come home I am treating you to a night you’ll never forget.  –G**

 

It wasn’t something either of them agreed to start doing frequently.  It just… happened. They’d leave little notes for each other everywhere.  They’re stick them to the coffee pot, tea cupboard, bathroom mirror, dresser drawer, and coat rack. They’d get them into each other’s vehicles.  They’d slip things in each other’s pockets.  They’d get them to the other’s office (this one with big help from Anthea, who only ever smirked in her acknowledgement).

 

Their subject matter ranged all across the board, depending on their moods of course.  It was partially what made it so fun, they never really knew what it would be saying until they read it.  Like so much else in their lives, it was unpredictable.  Thrilling.  Amazing.

 

_Each day I am away is a day more exhausting.  I yearn for your presence by my side.  –MH_

**I can still feel your lips on my skin.  –G**

_Every time I adjust my tie I feel the pleasantly aching reminder of last night’s activities against my collarbone.  –MH_

**Hey, gorgeous, remember to sit back and eat something this afternoon. –G**

_You have my permission to toss Sherlock in holding for a few hours if he is being unruly. In fact, I’ll buy wine for the occasion. –MH_

 

**Come home to me safe.  x  -G**

Each new word only solidified the bond between them. Each new note sent a fluttering surge of adrenaline through Greg’s chest and left him beaming down at the words as if he was gazing at the younger man himself.  He never wanted them to stop. 

 

They both kept each note, tucking them away in a drawer where they would be unharmed.  Later, they were gathered up and collected into a book. Mycroft rolled his eyes at the sentimentality of it all, but Greg knew he didn’t just agree because it was important to him.  He could tell that it was important to Mycroft too, even if he would never admit it. He would never be able to hide the way his pale eyes lit up as they pieced everything together, both of them sitting on the floor with their legs crossed.

 

Greg only continued to love him more.


	323. Political Meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really know much about the British Government. This was done with some internet researching. So please forgive any inaccuracies.

“Are you sure I should be here?” Greg whispered, leaning closer to Mycroft’s shoulder and shifting a bit nervously. He tugged at the cuff of his jacket, eyes running up and down his partner’s flawless form. He was used to how impeccable Mycroft looked in his three-piece suits, but somehow that was amplified even more tonight.

 

There was not a hair or a thread out of place, not a single wrinkle to speak of even though they had just been somewhat curled up together in the backseat of the black car that dropped them off. His umbrella was hanging off one elbow, as always, while his other hand was settled against the small of Greg’s back.

 

The older man swallowed, licking his lips and straightening a bit.  The only soothing thing about the night was feeling Mycroft’s thumb rubbing up and down gently against his side.  He exhaled and let his shoulders slump, glancing up at him.

 

“And are y’sure you wanna walk in like this?” he asked. Mycroft gave him his flat ‘don’t-be-ridiculous’ look.

 

“As opposed to what, Gregory?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

 

“Well, there’s a lot of… fancy people here, important people, and I’m…”

 

“Gregory, you are not foolish, so I wish you would stop acting that way,” Mycroft huffed, giving him another pointed look before gently pressing against the small of his back, ushering him toward the entrance.

 

Greg pressed his lips together and moved, starting to walk forward.  He waited for Mycroft to take the slight lead, and together they stepped inside the building. Two men opened huge doors, nodding politely and getting a nod in return from Mycroft.  Greg mumbled his thanks, trying his damn best not to gawk at their inside surroundings.

 

The ceiling seemed never-ending, lit with chandeliers that reflected off intricately decorated surfaces and making it seem even bigger.  There were canvases draped across the walls, with windows that were easily twelve feet high. There was an open ballroom, where a few people were dancing to the music ( _live music,_ of bloody course it was live music).  Scattered across the room were round tables that held all kinds of food and drink, but if that weren’t enough, there were waiters wandering across with trays of even more food and drink.

 

Everyone in the place was wearing outfits that easily cost three months worth of his salary.  He swallowed again, feeling more out of place than Sherlock in a stand-up comedy convention.  Mycroft’s arm remained settled around his waist, though, and while it surprised him he was thankful for it.  Greg found himself almost unconsciously retreating into the man’s comforting and familiar form, wanting to hide until they were done and he could go home. At home he could wear a pair of sweatpants he’d owned for ten years without fear of judgment. Here he could feel eyes on him, evaluating his rubbish suit, and it was awful.

 

“We won’t remain long,” Mycroft muttered into his ear, leaning close. “An hour at most.  I have some work to conduct, and as long as we can manage to stay on agenda, we won’t linger.”

 

Greg nodded, chewing on his bottom lip. Mycroft finally stepped away, but only long enough to take two glasses of champagne off a tray that was being carried by.  He turned back to Greg and handed a glass over, offering him a brief, but genuine, smile before taking a sip. Greg controlled himself enough so that he didn’t down the drink in one gulp, as much as he wanted to. If he got a bit drunk he knew he’d relax more.

 

“Over there are a few key members of the House of Lords,” Mycroft said in Greg’s ear, gently looping their arms together as he led him across the room.

 

“Let’s not be going over there then, yeah?” Greg asked, taking another drink of his champagne.  He’d very much not want to stand in front of _anyone_ from the House of Lords.  Mycroft chuckled.

 

“Luckily I am not dealing with anything quite so massive this evening,” the younger man smiled, and Greg exhaled in relief.

 

“Thank Christ for that,” he said, managing to smile. Mycroft chuckled.

 

“I do, however, need to go over here,” Mycroft mentioned, gesturing off to the left a bit.  Greg felt his stomach drop.

 

“Do you have to?” he groaned.

 

“Yes,” Mycroft smiled. “Don’t worry.”

 

Of course.  Don’t worry.  Mycroft was just leading them over to where the Home Secretary was talking with the Lord Chancellor and the Chief Justice.  Christ. He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of seeing them standing together like that.

 

“Mr. Holmes!” the Home Secretary smiled as they approached.  Mycroft put on his automatic smile, Greg noticing it immediately, and he just wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

 

“Good evening, Theresa,” he greeted, leaning in to kiss both of her cheeks. “This is my partner, Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade.”

 

Greg was startled by the introduction, but seemed to pass it off well.  He smiled and reached out to shake her hand, Mycroft already falling into the beginnings of his agenda for the night.  He was pulled into some minor conversations regarding the Met and, unsurprisingly, budget cuts ( _ugh_ ).  The Lord Chancellor even brought up his bloody arrest record – how in the fuck he knew that Greg would never know.  Mycroft helped, of course, practically singing his praises until he was red in the face.

 

He never got comfortable while they were there, but he couldn’t ignore how Mycroft continued to introduce him as his partner. It was a simple thing, sure, but it was amazing.  Mycroft was proud of him, and they were next to each other almost the whole night. He was affectionate enough for people to know they were in a relationship, and it was amazing.


	324. Unplanned Lunch Activities

Lots of interesting things occurred in Mycroft’s office in Whitehall.  Some of the highest levels of surveillance took place within his four walls.  Many negotiations and even more meetings had taken place here. It was one of the most secure rooms in London that did not frequently house the Royal Family (not to say that it never had, because he did get visits…), and if it came down to it he could lock himself in there for weeks and still be able to function quite properly.

 

This office saw a lot.  Sherlock had come down from more than one high on his sofa in here. It is where his first, professional meetings with Gregory Lestrade took place.  It is where John was sat across from him, undergoing the most intense interrogation as Mycroft asked what he intended with his brother. It had not been the first time he had asked such a question, but the answer had been much different this time around.

 

It is where he and Gregory got into a fight so intense he was certain their fumbling relationship had been over for good. It is where he worked himself to the point where Anthea even expressed her concern for him, and it is where he and Gregory kissed as they made up and became even stronger than ever. He was not normally one for sentiment, but it seemed clear that with Gregory Lestrade in his life, that was a changed concept.

 

More in the present, however, this Whitehall office is where Gregory was stretched out along the sofa, stark nude, with Mycroft looming over him and kissing him passionately.  He straddled the older man, rolling his hips and grinding their erections together, earning a gasp from them both.

 

“M-myc,” Gregory groaned, arching off the sofa a bit, almost digging his nails into Mycroft’s pale back. “ _Oh god_.”

 

This had not been the plan when Gregory had stopped by during his lunch hour.  Mycroft believed that actual lunch had been the plan.  However, they had not seen each other for any substantial amount of time in almost two weeks, and tender kisses hello quickly escalated into something more desperate and wanting.  It was only when they were pressed up against the wall and both rock hard in their trousers that Mycroft had the thought to relocate them to a more comfortable position.

 

Gregory slipped a hand between them, wrapping his fingers around both of their cocks and stroking slowly.  It made Mycroft shudder, his lips parting as he gasped again and allowed his eyes to flutter closed for a moment.  Adjusting so that he was up a bit straighter and not needing to brace his weight on his hands, he moved a hand down to join, swiping his thumb over their heads and smearing pre-cum across them.

 

He could feel his muscles jerking at the touch, sensitive in his arousal and sending heat shooting through him. He bit his lip, groaned softly in the back of his throat.  Gregory, on the other hand, flat out moaned as he arched up again.  Chuckling, Mycroft reached out with his other hand to gently press a finger against his lover’s lips.  They _were_ in his office, after all, not in the privacy of their own home.  It was already rare that Mycroft would let things escalate this far to begin with.

 

Gregory’s brown eyes locked with Mycroft’s pale ones, the dark orbs almost black with how turned on his was. Huffing out a shaky breath, Gregory parted his lips and brushed his tongue across the pad of Mycroft’s finger. The younger man sucked in a breath at the unexpectedly sensual contact, and before he could do anything, Gregory was taking the digit into his mouth and sucking gently.

 

Not once did they break eye contact. Mycroft whimpered. He could feel his limbs turning to jelly as Gregory sucked harder, using his teeth to nip at his finger a bit as well. Mycroft’s hips jerked where they were rocking together, and he let his head fall back as he groaned louder. It was more difficult to contain now. Gregory was undoing him in all the ways only he knew how.  He forgot about everything and everyone else, his focus narrowed down to the two of them, the sofa, and their climaxes.

 

After the incredibly lazy process of cleaning up and eating their slightly cold lunch, they parted with more kisses and talks of dinner that evening.  When Anthea came into the office twenty minutes later with some reports, she was smirking.

 

“Perhaps we should invest on making these walls effectively soundproof?” she asked, setting the folder down and pulling her Blackberry out. “You and the Inspector made the intern blush.”

 

“If they all know what is in their best interest, they will say nothing and act no differently the second I leave this office,” Mycroft said coolly, flipping through the papers.  He was not all that concerned that the skeleton crew of a staff he kept outside his office were aware of his intimacy with Gregory. He only staffed his Whitehall office with his most trusted employees.

 

Anthea just looked amused.  Mycroft couldn’t help but chuckle.  He doubted his partner would find the situation as amusing, but what Gregory didn’t know in this regard wouldn’t hurt him.

 

His staff were nothing if not the spirit of discretion.


	325. Adjustment Period

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> teen au

“Honestly, Gregory, do you really have to be doing that right now?” Mycroft snapped, turning at the waist from where he was hunched over at a desk.  Greg froze, the soft melody that had been coming from his guitar stopping as he froze and blinked.

 

“What?” he asked, staring at the younger teen in shock. He fiddled with his pick and pressed his lips together.

 

“It’s late and I’m trying to study and you have been going at that damn thing for an hour,” Mycroft explained, his tone harsh.

 

“Myc, I’ve got a gig next week,” Greg muttered his reminder. “I don’t get why you’re so stressed anyway.  You honestly don’t even need to be studying for these A levels. You’re smarter than the bloody _teachers_.”

 

“Oh, so I should just neglect it all then?” Mycroft asked, arching an eyebrow icily. “Like you?”

 

“Oi,” Greg glared. “Don’t start that with me.”

 

“Then _be elsewhere_ ,” the other teen said, turning back to his stack of textbooks and snatching his pen off the top.

 

 

Sighing, Greg pushed himself off the sofa and stormed off into their bedroom.  He and Mycroft had been living together for a few months now, having found a place near the school without having to be trapped on the campus all the time. It was refreshing. It had been good for them. They’d been dating for around a year next month, and in many ways, they had gotten much closer.

 

They were still adjusting though, clearly. For as much as they cared about each other, there were still so many ways that he and Mycroft clashed. They were very different people. His mates were still surprised that the two of them had ever gotten together, and that they were still together. It had been a bit flattering at first, but by this point it was just insulting.

 

Greg tried not to take offense to the insult Mycroft had just given him.  He didn’t entirely mean it, he knew.  But still. They were clearly adjusting. Their flat wasn’t huge, and while most of the time they enjoyed the closeness, they just… needed their own space too. Sighing, he dropped down onto the mattress and fiddled with his guitar’s tuning keys absently.

 

He stood by what he said.  Mycroft had been sitting at that damn desk constantly. They’d barely spent any quality time together for a week now.  Many times Greg had gone to bed alone, occasionally registering the mattress dipping when Mycroft joined him lord knows how many hours later.  Once or twice they woke up still in bed together, but… even that was getting rare.  It was honestly a bit irritating.

 

Frowning, Greg stood and leaned his guitar in its normal place against their wardrobe, before shoving his hands in the pocket of his hoodie and shuffling back out into the sitting room. He paused, shifting his weight as he stared at Mycroft’s back.

 

“Hungry?” he asked, a small attempt to make peace. Mycroft only hummed noncommittally in response. 

 

 _That’s a no_ , Greg thought to himself, feeling a flare of irritation in his chest. He took a stubborn moment to glare at the teen even though it could not be seen, and wandered into the kitchen to make something for himself.  He shouldn’t be so irritated, but he had a quick temper, and he didn’t like being dismissed so carelessly.  It was shitty.

 

He leaned against the counter as he ate, chewing his sandwich and glaring at random things.  Suddenly the teakettle offended him greatly. He huffed, running his free hand through his hair and grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge instead. When he was done, he headed back into the sitting room, pointedly not looking at his boyfriend, and collapsed on the sofa.  He buried his nose in his mobile.

 

About an hour later there was movement to his left, and he saw Mycroft pushing his chair back and standing. Greg shifted where he was slumped over, but didn’t pull his eyes away from the game of mahjong he was playing on his mobile. He was still a bit frustrated, and he wasn’t going to pander to a teen who didn’t seem to want to give him the time of day currently.

 

Mycroft sighed, walking over and taking a seat next to him.  Greg chewed on his bottom lip, continuing his game.  Mycroft put his hands in his lap.  Neither of them spoke.  Finally, after about ten minutes had passed, the silence was broken.

 

“Sometimes I still have difficulty adjusting to this,” Mycroft muttered.  Greg stopped moving his thumb, not focusing on the screen in front of his face now, but not lowering it either.

 

“Oh?” he managed to ask.

 

“Indeed,” Mycroft nodded, sighing. “That is not to say I in any way regret our decision to move in together. It is just that I am much more used to seclusion and quiet more often than not.  It’s… overwhelming.”

 

Greg glanced up then, staring at the other teen’s face. Mycroft was frowning, seemingly frustrated and tired.  He felt his shoulders slumping, and he dropped his mobile next to him on the sofa. Reaching out, he wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s shoulders and tugged him close.  The younger teen moved willingly, fitting up against Greg’s body comfortably.

 

“You need to take a breath and compartmentalize it,” he whispered, reaching up to stroke Mycroft’s hair. “Isn’t that what you’re always saying?”

 

Mycroft hummed his agreement, sighing. Greg suddenly found that he couldn’t be angry anymore.

 

“Sod the textbooks,” he whispered, turning to press a kiss into Mycroft’s hair. “Come to bed with me.  I’ve missed you, Mycroft.  We live together for fuck’s sake, I shouldn’t miss you so much.”

 

There was no heat in the words. Just… emotion. He really had missed Mycroft lying in bed next to him.  His heart pounded as he waited for an answer, and the younger teen sat up and looked at him. Pale eyes scanned his face, and finally, he nodded.

 

“Very well,” he whispered, reaching up and cupping Greg’s cheek.

 

They’d barely been curled up under the duvet for ten minutes before they were both completely asleep.


	326. Kidnapped

There was a cry of pain, followed by a dark chuckle. Greg felt like he was on fire. He was trembling, he was tied to a chair, and his hands were tied behind his back.  His head spun, and he was sure any moment he was going to throw up. His skin was pale and clammy, his hair damp with sweat.

 

“Now now, Inspector, it will all feel better once it kicks in,” the voice of his captor whispered in his ear as he bent in front of him.  The light caught on an empty syringe, and Greg felt lead weight settling in his stomach. There was no telling what kind of drug had been in the needle, but it was clearly now in his arm. The bend of his elbow was throbbing and he could feel moisture.  Was he bleeding?  It hadn’t been a very simple insertion so no doubt he was.

 

He could hardly remember how he’d gotten there. He most likely had a concussion. He only hoped that his captors were sloppy enough that Sherlock and John would find him.  Or Mycroft… Christ.  Mycroft.

 

Greg whimpered in pain, swallowing thickly as he began to feel woozy.  His heart rate was starting to escalate rapidly, but it wasn’t adrenaline.  He felt too sluggish for that.  No, it had to be the drugs.  They were acting fast.

 

And from the glimpse of things set out on the table nearby, it was just the beginning.

 

*

 

“Wakey wakey Inspector,” his captor commanded. His voice sounded so far away, almost ethereal.  It was only the harsh slap to his cheek, snapping his head to the side, that brought Greg back to consciousness.

 

He was cold.  He was shivering even more violently, and everything ached. He parted his chapped lips to gasp, and groan.  He blinked rapidly before having to shut his eyes tight.  For there not being much light in the room, it was making his head hurt something terrible.

 

There was a hand on the back of his head, steadying him.  Plastic pressing against his lips.  Cool water sliding across his tongue and down his throat.  It was relieving for all of about five seconds before he started choking on it slightly, causing him to cough harshly again.  The cup was taken away.

 

“Need to keep you at least a bit hydrated,” the man was saying. “Looks like you’re starting to go through withdrawal as well. We can’t have that. Want another dose, Inspector?”

 

Greg shook his head, groaning when he couldn’t form words.  God no he didn’t want more. The laughter that sounded showed that clearly they didn’t care, because it was going to happen anyway. The painful, piercing feeling was in his arm again, and he cried out, his back arching in instinct to get away even though he couldn’t move.  The pain intensified, he felt more moisture, and then the fire was flooding his entire body. The shaking got rougher, before dying away completely, and his headache faded. 

 

It was with a sigh that he lost consciousness again.

 

*

 

This trend kept up.  Greg had no track of time.  He had lost count how many times he had woken up in pain and craving. Each time the craving was satisfied, no matter how much he protested.  Things began to get hazier, no doubt due to the drug, and the pain became so constant that he hardly reacted to it anymore.

 

A warm hand on his face stirred Greg from his unconscious state.  It was different than the others before it.  His brow furrowed, eyes still shut tight, and he whimpered as he tried to turn away.

 

“Sssh, Gregory,” came a voice, soft. _Gregory_. His captors had never used his actual name… Gregory?  That voice… “Gregory, can you hear me?”

 

The hand was on his face again, turning him. There was a body leaning in. Lips pressed against his forehead. Greg opened his eyes with a wince, before sobbing at seeing Mycroft kneeling in front of him.

 

“My-“ he croaked.

 

“Ssshh, it’s all right,” Mycroft continued to whisper, carding fingers through his hair gently. “I’m here. I’m getting you out of here. Just hang on.”

 

Greg nodded, eyes fluttered closed as he was unable to keep himself conscious any longer.

 

*

 

_Beep. Beep.  Beep._

 

Greg grunted as he woke, noticing almost immediately that he was in very different surroundings.  The coolness around his hand disappeared, as he felt fingers covering his own.

 

“Gregory?”

 

Greg winced at the sudden rush of light as he forced his eyes open.  He was in hospital. He took a moment to adjust to everything before turning his head on the pillow, seeing a very worried Mycroft leaning over the bed.

 

“H-hey,” he rasped, coughing at the dryness of his throat.  Mycroft took his hands away just so he could get a cup of water, holding it close and guiding the straw between Greg’s lips so he could drink for a moment.

 

“Just rest,” Mycroft said before Greg could think to say anything.  They gazed at each other for a moment.  He had so many questions… “The drugs are all out of your system.  They used a steady mixture of cocaine and heroine to maximize their effects on you. They… They used the bend of your left arm for entry every single time, and there was so grace to it. Gregory… you’re going to have scarring.”

 

Greg managed a nod.  He figured that.  The pain had been too intense, and no doubt the man had just stabbed the needle in roughly every time.  He managed a sigh, whimpering.  Mycroft’s hands were around his again, and squeezing gently.

 

“You realize you made me do field work, right?” the younger man asked after a few quiet moments.  The tremble in his voice forced Greg to open his eyes again. There was a sarcastic smile on Mycroft’s face, but it was wavering and his eyes were glistening with moisture. He somehow managed a smile of his own.

 

“S’ry,” he managed, trying to chuckle and only started coughing again.  He was offered more water after a moment, and Mycroft’s lips were on his forehead again.

 

“Just rest, Gregory,” he was whispering. Greg was already slipping into a surprisingly comfortable sleep. “I will be here when you wake again.”

 

And Greg knew that he would.


	327. If You Betray His Trust

It had been a week since Sherlock had found out about Greg and Mycroft dating.  Greg had honestly been surprised he hadn’t noticed the second it happened. Though, the consulting detective had seemed a bit distracted with other things that started with John. Mycroft had only smiled knowingly every time that subject was brought up, and Greg had learned long ago not to ask. If he was meant to find out, Mycroft or John would tell him.  He knew that.

 

Since finding out, every time they were together, Sherlock would glare.  Greg found it quite hilarious, in all honesty.  He was being extra broody, which would be frustrating if it took away from the casework, but it wasn’t.  He was just being a bit more stubborn about it all than usual.  Sometimes it was shocking that he was a grown man.

 

It was, of course, when Sherlock chose to talk to _Sally_ to answer the question that Greg was asking, that he drew the line.

 

“Okay, come on,” he sighed, stalking over and snatching Sherlock by the elbow.  The younger Holmes stared at him in obvious surprise for a moment before shifting to disgruntled irritation, but Greg wasn’t having it. He turned and dragged Sherlock away from the scene, noticing the amused looks both John and Sally were sporting as they watched.

 

“What, precisely, are you doing, Lestrade?” Sherlock growled, yanking his arm out of Greg’s grasp once they were alone.

 

“This needs to stop,” Greg snapped, turning to face Sherlock and crossing his arms.  He was awarded with an icy glare for a response.

 

“I have no idea what you are-“

 

“Oh bollocks, do not even attempt to finish that sentence,” Greg interrupted, causing Sherlock to blink.  Sighing, the Detective Inspector pinched the bridge of his nose and pressed his lips together.

 

“Listen,” he started again after a few moments of silence between them. “Whatever your opinion is about me being involved with your brother, that’s fine.  I don’t care. We’ve known each other for a long time, Sherlock, longer than I’ve known Mycroft-“

 

“Hardly,” Sherlock said hard.

 

“Will you…” Greg paused, closing his eyes and breathing deeply as he collected himself again and started over. “We’ve known each other for a long time and we’ve been through a lot together. I don’t want this to undo any of the trust that we’ve built over the years, because say whatever you like, I know it’s there.  But even if that happens, I still have a job to do, you’re still consulting, so for god’s sake stop letting it interfere with the cases.”

 

“So you’re continuing this… _relationship_ with my brother,” Sherlock said, eyes narrowing a bit.  Greg lifted his chin defiantly.

 

“Yes I am,” he said with unwavering confidence, arms still crossed. “So if you’re going to act this way, do it off my crime scene.”

 

With a pointed look, Greg turned and started to head back to where the body was.  He’d said his piece, and Sherlock had seemed to at least sort of pay attention, which is really all he could ask when it came down to it.  What the consulting detective did now was completely up to him, but Greg had a murder to solve.

 

“Lestrade,” Sherlock called out before he got too far away.  Greg stopped, but remained for a moment before turning slowly.  He raised his eyebrows in question, watching as Sherlock let out an annoyed breath and walked back over to him.  He shoved his hands in his Belstaff’s pockets and glanced at a fixed point somewhere to the side of Greg’s head.

 

“Mycroft likes cats, though he will never admit it. He will refuse pastries when offered them but will wander into the kitchen in the middle of the night to eat them when he’s been working.  He is more unbearable than I am and gets even worse when he needs to be alone. He, too, has a Mind Palace, and while it is not as elegant as mine will ever be, it is much older and more practiced than mine.  That being said, it can clutter easily and if he does not take the time to fall into himself and sort it, he gets incredibly overwhelmed.  Unlike me, he never takes the time to sort it until it’s to that breaking point.”

 

Sherlock was speaking fast and not once looking Greg in the eye, and the older man just stared with his lips parted. What was… Was this what he thought it was?  He hung on to every word, unable to keep from smiling at some of the sweeter things he was getting told.

 

“Sherlock…” Greg started after silence fell again. When their eyes connected, there was an intimidating fire that the man was not expecting, and he fell silence and blinked again.

 

“If you betray the trust he has somehow decided to place in you, the consequences will be dire.  I don’t think I have to tell you that,” Sherlock sad, staring at him hard. “And those consequences will not just be from Mycroft.”

 

With that, the younger Holmes was spinning around, his coat flaring out as he moved, and with a shout to John he was going back to the crime scene.  Greg just stood there for a moment, a bit dumbfounded at what just happened. Licking his lips, he finally tugged out his mobile as he moved to join them, texting Mycroft with a smirk.

 

_I think your brother just gave me the ‘hurt him and I’ll kill you’ talk. -G_


	328. The Sauna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> teen AU

“I am still astonished you even convinced me to come here,” Mycroft hissed, crossing his arms over his bare chest self-consciously and huffing.  Next to him, Greg grinned brightly, cupping his elbow and tugging gently.

 

“Oh come on,” he said, nudging the younger teen with his elbow playfully. “You’re the sexiest person in here.”

 

“I am not accustomed to such a display, it’s rather uncomfortable,” Mycroft mumbled, shifting a bit closer to Greg. Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, Greg pulled and started to guide Mycroft away from the pool area.

 

Granted, there was hardly anyone there. Greg had purposely picked an odd time because he knew it wouldn’t be packed with people.  Like Mycroft had said, though, he was pretty astonished himself. He had been half joking about the two of them going to the nearby indoor pool together, mostly just for the image of his boyfriend in swim shorts.  It was pleasant to imagine, and as it turned out, even more lovely to see for real. He could hardly keep from staring.

 

However, he also hated to see Mycroft uncomfortable. He knew the younger teen wouldn’t immediately make them turn around and leave, but he had an idea that would help ease his mind a bit.

 

“Where are we going?” Mycroft asked as they got to the corner of the large room and started down a short hallway.

 

“Somewhere hopefully a bit more comfortable,” was all Greg replied with, taking a moment to glance over his shoulder and smile.

 

He turned down a corner, took Mycroft down another hallway, and turned again.  Only when they arrived in front of a door labeled ‘Sauna’ did he let go of his boyfriend and nudge the door open.

 

“After you,” he grinned, gesturing with one hand. Mycroft eyed him, and then the room in front of them curiously, before slowly stepping in.

 

Greg followed, letting the door slide shut behind them. The sauna room was a lot smaller and completely empty, apart from them.  The steam was going, but it was set at a slightly lower setting since no one had been using it for a bit.  Greg loved that about this place; there were others that it was one steam setting and that was it.  This one was a bit more controlled, and it was awesome.

 

“This is a bit better,” Mycroft admitted, turning to face Greg.  He offered the older teen a slightly hesitant smile, which Greg returned more confidently.

 

“Come here,” he nodded, stepping forward and reaching out to cup Mycroft’s cheeks.

 

They stood there, just staring at each other in the dimly lit room for a moment, before Greg leaned in and pressed their lips together. He stepped forward again, closing the remaining distance between them, feeling his stomach tingle at the content sigh he drew from Mycroft as they kissed.

 

After a moment, Mycroft’s hands came up to grip gently at Greg’s biceps.  One of Greg’s hands moved back, running his fingers through slightly damp ginger hair and cupping the back of the teen’s neck.  He deepened the kiss, taking a moment to suck gently on Mycroft’s bottom lip. He was granted a surprised groan in return.

 

“Let’s sit down,” Greg whispered against Mycroft’s lips, before pulling away enough to guide him over to one of the smooth, wooden benches that lined the walls.  He sat down and tugged gently on Mycroft’s wrist, who didn’t hesitate to straddle him as he sat down.

 

Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s waist and pulled him close, tilting his head back just as Mycroft leaned back in to kiss him again.  Slender fingers were in his hair now, gripping securely, which sent a shiver down Greg’s spine. He slid his tongue across Mycroft’s bottom lip and was immediately granted access.  They sighed into each other’s mouths, pressing closer, both of them beginning to sweat from a mixture of the steam and their growing arousals.

 

“Gregory,” Mycroft panted after a moment, trembling slightly.  Greg could feel his erection pressing against his stomach, and it was the hottest feeling in the world.

 

“Yeah?” he asked, gazing up, his voice slightly deeper than before.

 

“We’re in public.”

 

“Only slightly,” Greg grinned, massaging Mycroft’s hips slowly.  He watched as Mycroft bit his lip and sighed again.

 

“ _Gregory_ ,” Mycroft repeated, his voice turning into a bit more of a whimper than before as he pressed against him.

 

“God, Mycroft,” Greg sighed, feeling his back arch slightly as he yearned to be closer.  His own erection was throbbing now, being granted with friction that made him gasp every time Mycroft shifted on his lip.

 

They stared at each other, and Mycroft leaned back down to kiss him more roughly.  There was desperation and want in this kiss, and Greg clutched at him for what felt like dear life.  He needed this, they both did, and Greg felt dizzy as he was pushed to lie down and they discarded their swim trunks in a heady need to feel every inch of each other.

 

They grabbed at each other, rocking against each other, kissing and biting and rubbing however they could. As Mycroft came, his moans echoing off the sauna walls, Greg almost passed out at how beautiful a sight it was. It was perfect.


	329. Molly's Christmas Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the Christmas Special photo that was released today, I couldn't resist writing something to include it, hehe. You can see it here, in case you haven't seen it already (or if you're like me and kinda just wanna see it again, lmao): http://images.radiotimes.com/uploads/images/original/62797.jpg
> 
> I also took inspiration of Molly's outfit from the one Loo has been shown wearing in Ripper Street: http://www.radiotimes.com/uploads/images/Original/61768.jpg

“I still don’t understand how you manage to convince me of these things,” Mycroft muttered with a sigh, glancing at himself in the mirror and tilting the top hat that was reluctantly on his head. He pressed his lips together, before glancing beside him where Gregory was buttoning up his jacket. It had coat tails, which Mycroft appreciated immensely.  It was the only upside to this endeavor.

 

“Because it would be rude not to,” Gregory answered, tilting his chin up as he adjusted his black bowtie.  He plucked a bowler hat off the dresser and turned it over in his hands a few times before putting it on.

 

“I am hardly expected,” Mycroft pointed out, wanting desperately to get out of this awful event.

 

“Yeah, well, I’m not going alone,” Gregory smirked, crossing his arms. “I know for a fact John is forcing Sherlock to go, and your brother is a pain in my arse when he _wants_ to be somewhere.  I will not suffer it by myself.”

 

“Mmm, yes, because my presence always tempers Sherlock’s attitude _immensely_ ,” Mycroft said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.  Gregory only chuckled, tugging on his elbow as they started to leave the bathroom.

 

“Explain to me why this dress is required,” the younger man requested once they had settled into the car and were driving down the streets of London.  Not that he didn’t know, he just didn’t see the point.

 

“Because it’s a themed holiday party,” Gregory said, gesturing dramatically with his hands.

 

“It’s ridiculous.”

 

“Come on love, it’s Molly’s first party in her new flat,” Gregory said, tilting his head and gazing at Mycroft softly. Mycroft stared at him, letting himself get lost in those deep brown eyes for a few moments, before sighing.

 

“I still think that the trend of Victorian-themed Christmas parties is pointless and just a ridiculous excuse to dress up in clothes that normal people deem fancy and outdated, but not good enough to just wear on Halloween.  Most of which are horribly inaccurate anyway.”

 

“That’s **exactly** the reason, love,” Gregory smirked. “It’s just not appealing to you because you dress so posh every day already.”

 

Mycroft arched his eyebrows and smirked, shaking his head at the tone his partner had adopted.  If nothing else, the night would be worth getting to see Gregory dressed as he was.  It was rare the older man got too dressed up, not even owning more than two suits (compared to the countless Mycroft had in his possession).  The coat tails were especially befitting, and it was almost a shame that other people would be getting to witness it.  Were they in the privacy of their own home, Mycroft would have quite liked to take advantage of the occasion… Perhaps later.

 

As they got to Molly’s flat, however, Mycroft realized almost immediately that suffering the party would be more than worth it. They found Sherlock and Doctor Watson almost immediately, and Mycroft had to casually cover his mouth with one hand to keep from laughing out loud.  As casual as it was, though, it did not escape the glare his little brother gave him.

 

“My my, Sherlock, a top hat suits you quite well,” he remarked, his voice still shaking as he held back his laughter. He heard Gregory snort next to him, though it was most likely just as much at him as it was the men in front of them.

 

“Nice ‘stache, John,” Gregory chuckled. John shrugged, smirking.

 

“Part of the deal,” he started to explain, but was silenced, as Sherlock not so discreetly elbowed him and coughed. Gregory looked shocked. Mycroft just hummed his acknowledgement.

 

“Say nothing,” Sherlock snapped, pointing harshly at Mycroft before turning on his heel and striding off.  He was almost immediately caught by Molly, who Mycroft had to admit, was looking rather fetching with her hair curled and pinned up, her dark blue striped top and bluish-grey skirt complimenting her figure nicely.

 

“I must say, John, it is a step up from the one you attempted to grow naturally,” Mycroft said, pale eyes sliding over the moustache he was sporting.  John didn’t seem to know whether to take it as a compliment or an insult.

 

“Ah, thanks?” he ended up saying, eyeing Mycroft curiously under his brown bowler hat.  Mycroft managed a somewhat withering smile before excusing himself. He felt like a good glass of wine was in order if he was going to get through the night.

 

Gregory joined him at the window he had settled himself at a little while later, his own glass in hand.  He was smiling.

 

“Ta for this,” he said, smiling. Mycroft felt his chest clench a bit, and he nodded.

 

“It’s fine,” he admitted.  It wasn’t so bad, putting it into perspective. People had left him mostly alone as well, which he had quite preferred.  Gregory shifted closer.

 

“Did you see what was above you?” he asked over his wine glass.  Mycroft rolled his eyes a bit playfully.

 

“Of course,” he answered, tilting his head as he knew what was to happen.

 

“Good,” Gregory said, cupping his cheek and lifting up on his toes to kiss him gently, per request from the mistletoe nestled right above the windowpane.


	330. Sprained Ankle

“I’m so sorry, Myc,” Greg mumbled, crouched down on the ground next to where Mycroft was sitting with his legs stretched out.  He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, reaching over to cup the younger man’s cheek gently. “All right?”

 

“I will be fine,” the man answered with a sigh, though he did lean into the touch.  Not mad, then, so that was a good sign.  Greg managed a smile.

 

“Does it hurt?”

 

“Hardly,” Mycroft answered, brushing it off and pushing himself to stand with a grunt.  Greg stood close by, one hand hovering behind him.  Once Mycroft stood to his full height and settled, there was a twitch to his expression, followed by an involuntary hiss as he shifted his weight entirely off his right leg.  Greg grimaced.

 

“Well, not being able to put weight on it isn’t a great sign,” Greg said, peering down to gaze at the ankle. “You might have sprained it.  It hurts bad?”

 

“It is not pleasant to stand on,” Mycroft muttered, reaching out to grab Greg’s shoulder for balance.

 

The day was lovely; the sun was out, it was a comfortable temperature, and there was just enough of a breeze to compliment it and keep it from getting too hot.  They were at a vacation home owned by Mycroft’s family, enjoying a few silent days after two straight months of insanity. It had been a whim, but Greg had found himself dying to explore the grounds.  They were vast and there seemed to be even more obscured by the trees.  It had been ages since he had taken any kind of hike or stroll.

 

Mycroft had been skeptical about joining him at first, but after a bit of discussion (Greg would call it pleading), they both changed into comfortable clothes and were off.  Greg had been very grateful Mycroft decided to join him, and not just for the company.  His partner provided wonder insights and history to the place, especially as they wandered through the trees and came across broken down and abandoned structures.

 

They had been out there for about an hour or so, before the two of them turned to start making their way back.  Fingers laced together, they wandered along the small path that nature had created, talking about potential dinner plans.  Neither of them noticed the tangle of roots they were coming across as they walked.  Too caught up in each other, they didn’t see it until Mycroft’s shoe got caught in it and forced him off balance.  Greg had acted fast, saving the man from completely biting it, but it was now clear that the damage had still been done.

 

“Lemme see,” Greg sighed.  He licked his lips, gently lifting up the leg of Mycroft’s cotton trousers to peer at his ankle.  It was already swelling a bit.  Greg was all too familiar with these kind of injuries from his years playing football. “Yeah, definitely looks like it could be sprained.”

 

“ _Wonderful_ ,” Mycroft remarked sarcastically, shoulders slumping.  Greg offered him a sympathetic smile before twisting to gaze back towards the house.

 

“We’re not too far off,” he commented. “Though you shouldn’t try to walk on it.”

 

“And what precisely do you suggest I do instead?”

 

“I’ll carry you.”

 

“Oh.  Oh, no.  No, Gregory, I will manage.”

 

“No, you won’t,” Greg argued, smirking a bit.  He couldn’t deny the appeal to carrying Mycroft all the way back. “You need to keep off it, or you’ll hurt it more.  We’ll need to get some ice on it, and me carrying you is the best way.  It’s the most _logical_ way, even.”

 

Mycroft glared at the use of the word ‘logical’, and Greg only tilted his chin in response.  They had a bit of a silent battle, before Mycroft’s shoulders slumped again and he exhaled in exhaustion.  The head shake that followed announced his giving in before he ever said a word.

 

“I cannot deny the accuracy of that statement,” he muttered, grimacing. “Though I hardly think-”

 

“What?  That I can carry you back?  C’mon Myc,” Greg said, shaking his head. “‘Course I can.  Hold still, okay?”

 

Mycroft attempted to straighten himself, still gripping Greg’s shoulder, as the shorter man got into position at his side.  Then, bending at the knees slightly, Greg wrapped one arm around Mycroft’s back, leaning down to position his other at the back of his knees.  Then, nudging slightly, he scooped Mycroft up in his arms.

 

Mycroft quickly wrapped his arms around Greg’s shoulders, clutching to him a bit tighter than was necessary.  They stood like that for a moment, Greg working to adjust his grip so he could hold the man more comfortably.  He could feel Mycroft’s breath against his temple.  Glancing at him, he smiled.

 

“See?  Not so bad.”

 

“What, carrying me bridal style through the woods because a bloody root caused me to twist my ankle?” Mycroft asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice again. “No, not so bad at all.”

 

“Oh come on,” Greg chuckled, turning to kiss Mycroft gently.  He brushed their noses together affectionately, before turning forward and beginning to walk.

 

“Look at it this way,” he said after a few moments, as the house drew closer. “Gives us an excuse to take a bath together tonight.”

 

“You’re implying we need an excuse?” Mycroft asked lightly.  Greg’s grin widened.

 

“No,” he said, his mind already settling on the rather exciting possibilities for later. “But that’s beside the point.”


	331. Bad Days

Greg despised days like today. Days where the crimes got more complicated, the victim count climbed higher, and they were no closer to a solution than the were the day previous.  Days where he was getting hounded on from all sides, from superiors and the press, and even his bloody ex-wife.  He was in an awful mood when he got home, exhausted and stressed and desperately needing a drink.

 

With a beer in hand, he wandered into the sitting room and collapsed onto the sofa with a sigh, tilting his head back and closing his eyes as he sunk into the cushions.  He sat in silence for a few moments before bringing the bottle to his lips and reaching for the remote.  He turned on the telly as he drank, searching through the channels until he finally just settled on a Manchester match against Chelsea.

 

It was a few hours before Mycroft came home as well. Greg listened to him hang his coat up and walk down the hallway, going into the kitchen.  His guess was confirmed as he heard the sound of water running and the kettle being set on the stove.  The younger man almost always made tea the moment he got home.

 

He glanced over at the doorway, watching as Mycroft emerged with a sigh of his own, his slender hands wrapped around a steaming teacup.  Greg offered him a smile, which was briefly returned before the younger man walked through the room. He reached out, running his fingers through Greg’s hair, before continuing on through towards his office without a word.

 

Greg glanced over his shoulder, but remained where he was.  It was more than obvious that Mycroft’s day had clearly been about as awful as Greg’s, if not worse. The older man was torn between coaxing Mycroft back out of his office so they could have a cuddle or take a shower, or leaving him alone to do whatever he needed to.  He decided on the latter, at least for a little bit, before disturbing him.

 

Another hour passed, and Greg drank another beer, before finally he turned off the telly.  Running a hand through his hair, he took his empty bottles into the kitchen to throw away, and made his way to the closed door of his partner’s office. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other for a moment, before pressing his lips together and knocking.

 

There was no response.  Greg honestly hadn’t expected there to be. He always knocked out of courtesy and in way to announce his presence, before he turned the door handle and slipped inside.  Mycroft was hunched over at his desk, his normally proper posture completely gone, staring at his laptop. He hardly seemed to realize Greg was there until his hand was on his shoulder.

 

“Gregory?” the younger man asked, blinking as he glanced up, brow furrowed.  Greg gazed down at him.

 

“Hey,” he whispered, managing a soft smile. Reaching out, he cupped Mycroft’s cheek. “Bad day?”

 

“That doesn’t even begin to describe it,” he muttered. Greg reached his hand up and brushed Mycroft’s temple.

 

“It’s loud in there tonight,” he said, watching as Mycroft’s eyes fluttered shut. 

 

He could tell when Mycroft’s mind had become too much for him to easily handle.  There always came a point where it was harder for the younger man to sort and compartmentalize everything, to a point of being overwhelming.  Suddenly, everything about his day didn’t matter. Suddenly, the only thing that mattered was helping Mycroft’s mind to fall silent, to get him relaxed. Greg had been told once that he was the only one who ever could.

 

“Come on, let me help make it quiet,” he continued to whisper.  Mycroft opened his eyes again, scanning across his face.

 

“Your day was bad as well.  You spilled coffee, barely finished your breakfast, got pulled out on another case with one… no, two more bodies.  It was a damp, depressing place.  You were there for hours-“

 

“Sssssh, Mycroft, let me make it quiet,” Greg said, pressing a finger to the man’s lips. “You don’t need to deduce my day.”

 

“You are distressed,” Mycroft sighed, glancing away. “You should not spend your time worrying about me.”

 

“But you know I will anyway,” Greg said. “Come on, let’s get out of this office.  I’d like to try coaxing you to join me in the shower.”

 

“Gregory…”

 

“Let me help make it quiet,” he repeated, more solidly. “You know it always does me good too.”

 

“Very well,” Mycroft admitted with a sigh, reaching up to take Greg’s hand and let himself be led out of the room.


	332. Taking Control

“Slowly, Gregory,” Mycroft rumbled, loosely crossing his legs as he relaxed more into the sofa, head turned just slightly and eyes locked on his partner’s body.  He shifted, crossing his legs enough so he could settle one ankle on the opposite knee, and propped his shoulder up on the armrest.

 

“We do this my way.”

 

Standing in the center of the room, the older man only responded with a mischievous smirk, hands hovering over the buttons of his dress shirt.  Gregory raised his eyebrows as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, licking his lips as he slowly messed with the second highest button.  As it finally slid out, the shirt moved and revealed a bit more of the tanned skin underneath.  Mycroft’s pale eyes shifted to the exposure, and he absently brought his index finger to his mouth and grazed the skin with his teeth slightly.

 

“Like that?” Gregory whispered softly, tilting his head to the side.  His hands were already shifting down to the next button, where he began playing with it a bit as well before unfastening it.

 

“Precisely,” Mycroft hummed, biting lightly at his finger again.

 

Mycroft hadn’t realized as he was making his way home that afternoon that this was what he desperately needed. It wasn’t until Gregory had arrived home as well and was sliding his coat off his shoulders that the politician realized.  He needed intimacy, and he needed it drawn out, and he needed to be in control of it.

 

The part of his brain that hardly ever turned itself off had rationalized it almost immediately. Carefully laid out plans and negotiations that were months in the making fell apart, and it had been utter chaos, and Mycroft had been at its mercy all morning.  He had lost control of it all, and while things were as stable as they could be, it left him in a frantic state for the rest of the day.

 

Gregory was his constant.  He could depend on the older man.  He could not confide in him, not in the way he would prefer, for the contents of it were too classified to discuss.  He knew, though, that his partner would be there for him and help him, provide him with whatever he needed.  This was what he needed.

 

He watched silently as Gregory continued to slowly, teasingly, unbutton his shirt until it was open and revealing his chest and stomach.  Mycroft felt a twitch of arousal in his half-hard cock already, and he exhaled through his nose.

 

“Leave the shirt on,” he spoke as Gregory had started to push it off his shoulders. “Trousers now.”

 

Nodding, Gregory left the shirt on and open, slowly moving his hands down to the button on his slacks.  He gave it the same treatment, the material of his pants showing just slightly once it was finally unfastened.  The zipper was next, revealing more of his pants. Mycroft could see the dusting of hair along his stomach now, right above the waistline of his pants, and he starting running his finger across his bottom lip as he stared. He allowed himself to look up, his eyes locking with Gregory’s dark ones, and offered the man a soft nod to prompt him to take the trousers off.

 

“ _Slowly_ ,” he repeated, shifting his gaze back down the man’s body again.

 

Again, Gregory did as asked, which sent a flare of victory and want through his body.  Hooking his thumbs into belt loops, the man began to push the trousers down, revealing his pants and the very telling bulge behind them.  Mycroft hummed in appreciation, earning a bright grin from his partner.  His bare legs were slowly revealed: thighs, knees, shins, and then Gregory was stepping out of them and nudging them aside.

 

“Pants now,” he instructed, his voice getting slightly deeper. “But Gregory.  Turn around.”

 

Gregory blinked, before nodding and turning so that his back was to the sofa.  Mycroft bit a little harder on the pad of his finger as the pants were pushed down, revealing the older man’s arse.  Mycroft felt himself twitch again, and he was beginning to desperately want Gregory over here instead of over there, but not yet.  No, not just yet…

 

Mycroft waited for the pants to be discarded in very much the same fashion as the trousers were, and watched as Gregory slowly stood again.  He could see the shift of his leg muscles, and though his shirt was still on, could see they way they flexed across his back as well.  Mycroft licked his bottom lip, tongue brushing across the finger still hovering there as well.

 

“Turn back around now,” he instructed.

 

He let out a shaky sigh as Gregory did so. The older man was completely erect, standing there in nothing but his open shirt.  Mycroft allowed himself a few fleeting moments to admire, before he lifted his hand again and beckoned his partner over with the finger he’d been chewing on.

 

Gregory straddled him immediately after closing the distance, and Mycroft yanked him down for a rough kiss. He pressed his hands against Gregory’s chest, roaming across the warm skin and brushing through the fine hairs there. He broke the kiss so he could watch as he allowed himself to unwrap the final piece, pushing the shirt off Gregory’s shoulders and letting it fall to the floor.

 

Gripping Gregory’s hips, Mycroft pulled him as close as he could, pressing their bodies together.  They gasped into another kiss, Mycroft sighing and Gregory groaning at the friction it created.  It was just what he had needed.


	333. Attempting A Surprise

One slow morning at work, Greg had the most genius idea.  With a grin, he grabbed his jacket and tugged it on, pocketing his mobile and his keys, and made his way out of Scotland Yard with a passing comment to Sally that he’d be back in an hour or two.  He halfway considered taking the car, but the day was decent and it was close enough, so he decided to just walk.  It wasn’t even a full mile to Mycroft’s office in Whitehall, and he’d much rather stretch his legs than deal with traffic.

 

Surprising Mycroft at work would be a pleasant jump-start to the coming weekend.  He had initially considered waiting until closer to the end of the day so he wouldn’t have to go back to the Yard, but that risked a murder interrupting his plans and he’d rather not have that.  So, lunchtime it was.  They had dinner reservations later that evening, but Greg didn’t want to wait that late to see the other man.

 

Sure, he supposed they were still in what was called “the honeymoon phase” of their newly cemented relationship. It completely explained his inability to wait until dinner to see Mycroft.  If he could slip in about an hour with him, that would be brilliant and make the rest of his day much better.  He could hardly keep the excited grin off his face, no doubt earning him a strange look or two, and shoved his hands in his coat pockets as he continued along.

 

A flutter of anticipation filled his chest as Whitehall came into view.  Picking up his pace slightly, Greg paused a moment to cross the street, jogging to avoid from holding up any passing cars, and cleared his throat as he approached the door. He ran a hand through his hair and hesitated momentarily, wondering if he should knock.  He felt immediately silly and shook his head, settled his hand on the door, and pushed it open.

 

A security guard stood and made his way over, shoulders set and face all business.  Greg nodded to him as he stepped inside, and stopped in front of the man.

 

“Good afternoon,” the guard greeted, eyeing him. “May I help you?”

 

“Yes, I’m here to see Mycroft Holmes,” Greg nodded again, smiling politely.

 

“Do you have an appointment?” came the next question. The guard brought up a clipboard he’d been holding in one hand, skimming across the list that was on top. Clearly he was looking for the answer to his own question.

 

“Not exactly, no,” Greg said, licking his lips a bit. “Just wanted to pop in for a moment.  We’re well acquainted, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

 

“I am sorry, sir, but if you do not have an appointment I’m afraid I cannot let you see Mr. Holmes.”

 

Greg had wondered about that. For having a minor position in the Department of Transport, as Mycroft so liked to describe his position, he had tight security.  He almost chuckled at the thought of it, but knew it most likely would not be appropriate in the current situation.  Instead, he drew out his wallet and flashed his badge.

 

“I am Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade,” he introduced, holding the badge up while the guard examined it. “Now, I’m not necessarily here on police business, but surely this gives me the leave to at least pop my head in for a few moments?”

 

“Let me check,” the guard said, turning back to his station and typing something on a mobile device that was sitting over there. Greg returned his wallet to his pocket and waited.  The guard shook his head. “No, sir, it looks like without notice or an appointment, I cannot let you just walk up there.”

 

“If you run it by Mycroft, call him or something,” Greg said as the guard approached him again. “Or even his PA, Anthea.”

 

“Anthea, sir?”

 

“Yes, Anthea,” Greg nodded. “Either of them can confirm it.”

 

“Sorry, sir, I have to ask you to leave.”

 

“No, now hang on a second,” Greg started, but the guard was already closing the distance and starting to usher him out. “No no, wait a second, I said.  Seriously, I know it’s okay for me to be here, please, just-“

 

“Sir, I do apologize, but even as a Detective Inspector, I cannot let you up there,” the guard interrupted, gently wrapping a hand around Greg’s bicep. “Now if you do not leave, I will have to forcibly remove you.  I’d prefer not to do that, sir.”

 

“Oi, that’s really not necessary,” Greg sighed again. “Just, call- Oh fine, I’ll bloody do it.”

 

He stepped out of the guard’s grasp with an irritated look, grabbed out his mobile and calling Mycroft.  He had wanted this to actually be a surprise, but clearly that was not going to happen, and he really didn’t fancy getting tossed out of Whitehall.

 

“Gregory, what a pleasant surprise,” Mycroft answered, his voice a bit light.  Greg eyed the guard, who was approaching him again, and held up a finger to try and tell him to wait.

 

“Hey, Myc, can you, ah… tell this nice young lad that guards the entrance to Whitehall that I’m not a suspect of a person and can come up to your office, please?” he asked, running a hand through his hair. There was a pause, and then a chuckle, and then the guard’s mobile device chimed.  The man stopped and glanced at it, looked back up at Greg, and motioned for him to pass.

 

“Thanks,” he said to both the guard and Mycroft, hanging up and dropping the mobile back in his pocket as he made his way up to Mycroft’s office.

 

The man was already standing and smiling when Greg opened the door to his office.  Grinning, he made his way across the room and tilted his head up, slipping his arms around the younger man’s torso as they closed the distance and kissed.

 

“An even more pleasant surprise,” Mycroft muttered against his lips, smiling.

 

“Couldn’t wait until dinner,” Greg whispered. “Wanted it to be more of a surprise, but…”

 

“Yes,” Mycroft chuckled, rubbing the tips of their noses together briefly. “Security is very important here. Why don’t I raise your clearance levels? It should avoid such a display in the future.”

 

“Really?” Greg asked, blinking, lips parted. Mycroft cupped his cheek.

 

“Of course,” he nodded. “I would very much like more surprises like this in the future, after all.”

 

Mycroft leaned in and they kissed again, and Greg felt every inch of him burn with excitement and desire.  Christ, he was pretty sure he was insanely in love with this man.


	334. The First Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> teen AU

Greg was sitting in class, resting his head in his hand as he attempted to pay attention to the lecture.  He was terribly bored.  He also kept getting distracted by his boyfriend on the other side of the room. Not that Mycroft was doing anything particularly alluring, but he never need to for Greg to be distracted. His eyes kept shifting to the pale skin of his neck that wasn’t hidden by his school uniform. Just earlier that morning Greg was kissing all along that neck, making Mycroft sigh and shiver beautifully.

 

Whispers to his left drew Greg’s attention, and he blinked as he turned to see snow falling outside.  His eyes widened and he felt himself thrum with excitement, now dying for class to be over even more now.  It had been cold for a while and they’d all been dying for snow to finally happen.  It was falling hard and fast, and Greg started to break out into a grin.  Vibrating with excitement, he glanced down and pulled out his mobile.

 

_Fluffy white excitement outside!! :D  -G_

He glanced over, watching Mycroft glance down at his mobile as the text was sent.  The younger teen glanced back at him then with an amused expression on his face and Greg just grinned wider.  He nodded, raising his eyebrows and pointing over at the window.  He was given another headshake before Mycroft turned back around to actually pay attention to the lecture.

 

Everything was practically white noise at this point, but thankfully he wasn’t the only one now.  At least half the class was buzzing with eagerness to get out now. The professor started having difficulty keeping everyone’s attention, finally raising his voice and threatening another assignment if everyone didn’t quiet down and focus.

 

Finally, the end came, though. The professor dismissed everyone about twenty minutes later and kids were bursting out of their seats so fast chairs almost crashed to the ground.  Greg was up fairly quickly, but halted next to his boyfriend’s chair instead of darting out the door.

 

“C’mon Myc, it’s snowing,” he grinned, bouncing excitedly.

 

“Gregory, do calm down,” Mycroft said, though he sounded slightly amused. “The snow will be there in a few moments, so there is no need to run outside like a madman.”

 

“But Myyyyyyyc,” Greg practically whined, unable to keep from turning to glance outside again.

 

“Sometimes I find it hard to believe you are the older one between the two of us,” Mycroft commented as he stood, slinging his bag over his shoulder and glancing at Greg with a smirk.

 

“Oh hush,” Greg said, waving a hand between them with a huff. Mycroft rolled his eyes playfully.

 

“Come on then,” he chuckled, and Greg all but burst out of the classroom and jogging down the hall.  Mycroft strode after him, his slightly longer legs making it extremely easy to keep up with the excitable teen.  Greg still would not admit how Mycroft’s growth spurt was starting to cause him to get taller, and he knew it would keep happening, but he would promptly ignore it until then.

 

Greg’s face was hit with bitter cold the second he got outside, and it felt amazing.  He loved winter so much.  It was beautiful and refreshing and just awesome.  He glanced over his shoulder to make sure Mycroft wasn’t far behind, wandering across the campus and over towards a table and bench setup so he could drop his bag.

 

Spinning around, he reached out and beckoned Mycroft over.  The younger man reached him, setting his bag down as well, and crossed his arms loosely as he adjusted to the cold.  His pale nose and cheeks were already getting bright red, and it was adorable. It made Greg grin even more.

 

“Can we go inside now,” Mycroft asked, arching his eyebrow.

 

“Oh come on, we just got out here!” Greg said, reaching over and grabbing the younger man’s hand and tugging him close. Wrapping his arms around his torso, Greg rubbed their noses together, their breath puffing between them.

 

“Gregory, what are you doing?” Mycroft asked, pale eyes scanning his face as he tried to work him out.  Greg just beamed.

 

“Wanna have a snowball fight?” he asked, voice dropping as if trying to keep a secret, even though there was no one near them. Mycroft’s eyes widened.

 

“No,” he said, pulling out of the embrace. “Absolutely not.  Do not even think about it.”

 

Greg started to bend down, reaching to gather up some snow, chuckling as Mycroft continued to back away.

 

“ _Gregory,_ stop it,” Mycroft snapped, glaring now.

 

“If you hurry you’ll get in a good shot!” he taunted in a singsong voice as he balled up some snow.  It was cold and just damp enough to stick together and make the perfect snowball.

 

“I will end you,” Mycroft threatened, pointing vigorously at Greg.  Laughing, the older teen straightened and took off after Mycroft, chasing him around the area a little bit, but never quite threw the snowball; preferring to tug Mycroft into a spinning hug that caused them both to fall in a fit of surprised laughter.


	335. Decorating

Greg had the day off from work, and he decided to put it to good use.  It was officially December, and he could get away with his planning without it seeming bizarre. So, after allowing himself to sleep in for an extra hour or two, he was up and showered and ready to decorate.

 

He hadn’t been huge into the whole Christmas thing growing up.  Having kids changed that. When Elizabeth was born, she brought the magic of the season to Greg’s life, and it had all made sense. No, he didn’t dress up like elves and sing Christmas carols and go the whole nine yards or anything, but it became a fun time of the year for him regardless.  Sure, both Lizzie and his younger, Abby, were too old for Santa and putting out milk and cookies, and he wasn’t entirely sure which week they’d be staying at his, but still.  That wasn’t gonna stop him from getting all ready.

 

He spent the majority of the morning out at the shoppes, picking up decorations he knew he would need.  This was going to be the first time he’d decorated the flat he and Mycroft lived in together, so it had a whole new feeling behind it. Mycroft didn’t seem to care about the holidays one way or another himself, only having a few things that he admitted to putting out this time of year, so Greg was going to change that.

 

He had lunch at a café after dropping all his bags off at the car.  He’d gotten an array of lights and ornaments and candles and the like, and picked up stockings for both himself and Mycroft that he could hang on the fireplace. Once he secured a tree and a few other live plants, he could head home.  He knew that he’d brought a few boxes of decorations from his old place when he’d moved in, so there would be some searching to be had when he got back home.

 

Carrying in the tree he had acquired in through the door and down the hall had been an interesting experience. He’d lost balance twice, but thankfully never fell over, and his arms were aching by the time he got it settled into its water stand.  His arms were sticking from tree sap and he was sweating, so once he had pulled down his ornaments from where they’d been tucked into a storage area, he took a shower and put on clean clothes before going about the rest of his day.

 

He had wrapped up with everything about twenty minutes before he heard the front door open.  Grinning, Greg pushed himself off the sofa and grabbed something off the table, wandering through to meet his partner at the door.

 

“Hey you,” he grinned.  Mycroft offered him a genuine smile that made his stomach flutter.

 

“Hello Gregory,” he said, hanging up his coat and pulling off his gloves. “How was your day off?”

 

“Productive,” he grinned, stretching his arm up to hold the item he’d grabbed over them.  Mycroft followed curiously, glancing up to see him holding mistletoe above their heads. 

 

“Mistletoe?” Mycroft asked, arching an eyebrow. Greg wiggled the little plant and hummed.

 

“Yup,” he nodded, rising up on his toes a bit. “So you know what that means, right?”

 

“I am familiar with the notion,” Mycroft admitted, cupping Greg’s cheek and pulling him in for a slow, gentle kiss. Greg let his outstretched arm fall and wrap around the man’s shoulders, pulling himself closer.

 

“Well done,” he whispered against Mycroft’s lips, grinning.

 

“I take it you decorated,” Mycroft said. Right as always. Greg nodded.

 

“Let me give you the grand tour.”

 

Threading their fingers together, Greg pulled Mycroft through the house, showing off the tree and the fireplace and the array of decorations throughout the sitting room and kitchen and hallways. It was simple, relatively speaking, all just enough to add a bit of festive cheer to their home. He never liked being obnoxious with his decorating, which he knew Mycroft would appreciate.

 

Of course, as they wandered through the rooms, Greg _very innocently_ discovered piece after piece of mistletoe.  Each time he stopped them, shrugging as he pointed to the small plant, and grinning as they kissed.  Finally, when they had gone to the bedroom so Mycroft could change and were not only stopped at the door, but also next to the bed, Mycroft rolled his eyes and chuckled.

 

“Dare I say I believe all this mistletoe is a ploy,” he said.  Greg feigned surprise.

 

“No!” he gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. “Would I ever?”

 

“Like we need a reason to kiss,” Mycroft smirked, wrapping his arms around Greg and pulling him in again.  The older man laughed happily as they spun, gripping at each other tightly and kissing for as long as their lungs would allow.


	336. Playing Violin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> teen AU
> 
> A very special request from i-am-greg-lestrade is what turned into tonight's drabble

It took many times of asking for Greg to finally convince Mycroft to play violin for him.  For months the younger teen had declined, shaking his head and dismissing the thought of it quickly.  Greg had been told multiple times that the violin was Sherlock’s instrument, not his. Sure, he knew how to play, but his musical talents had always been more focused on the piano.

 

When Greg had learned that Mycroft was the one who had originally taught Sherlock how to play, though, he knew he had to hear. He loved the more classical musical background the Holmes boys had compared to his punk rock one, and he’d been amazed when he’d caught a glimpse of the talent Sherlock possessed. He was dying to listen to what Mycroft had.

 

“Come on,” Greg grinned as he stretched across his boyfriend’s bed and crossed his ankles. “You know I’ll stop pestering you if you just play for me real quick, yeah?”

 

“Mmm, I wouldn’t quite say that,” Mycroft smirked knowingly.  Greg chuckled. Well, that was probably true. Even still, he just wanted to hear.

 

“Okay, I can’t make that promise,” he admitted. “But I play for you?  Come on Myc, please?”

 

“Yes okay, very well,” Mycroft nodded, pushing off from where he was sitting along the edge of the bed.  Greg pushed up on his elbows, gaping.  His heart rate sped up excitedly.

 

“Really?” he asked, sitting up completely and crossing his legs underneath him.  Mycroft nodded, walking across his bedroom and over to his closet. Greg fell silent as he watched him all but disappear behind the door for a moment.  A moment later he stood again, violin in hand and stepping back towards the center of the room.

 

A silence fell in the room, Greg practically holding his breath in anticipation.  There was a shift in Mycroft, in the way the teen held himself, as he closed his eyes and centered himself.  Greg smiled softly, knowing all too well what he was doing.  He did it too.  It was just lovely seeing Mycroft going through it like he was.

 

Exhaling through his nose, Mycroft tilted his chin up and lifted the violin.  He turned his head to the side as he settled the instrument against his shoulder, his chin pressing into the black rest that was attached to the bottom. It was with a barely noticeable smile that he lifted the bow and dragged it across the strings experimentally, before positioning his slender fingers and beginning to play.

 

There were a few slow notes starting out, before the piece took off almost immediately after.  Mycroft’s fingers flew along the neck of the violin, and Greg blinked as he shifted a bit closer on the bed, watching.  He was mesmerized and drawn to it immediately, his lips parted in awe at the sight before him.  Watching Mycroft really put himself into the song was something beautiful and slightly unexpected.

 

Naturally, music took emotion, and _playing music_ was even more involved. It was difficult to remain detached and really blow people away at the same time.  Mycroft… He left the emotion take him over. There was pure serenity and bliss on his face as his body swayed, dipping and turning as the melody changed and swirled. Greg couldn’t tear his eyes away. He couldn’t stop gazing at the smile, just enough of one to be noticed.

 

Greg had no idea how long the song was. He lost himself in everything, barely realizing it was over until Mycroft was lowering the violin and looking at him instead, a mixture of amusement and confusion on his face.

 

“Gregory?” he asked softly, and the older teen blinked rapidly.

 

“Yeah, uh,” he started.

 

“Admittedly, it sounds better with a full ensemble. The violin can only do so much work,” Mycroft sighed, walking closer to the bed and settling the instrument down, leaning it against the wooden frame carefully.  Greg couldn’t help but continue to stare at him.  He had never…

 

“That… I mean, it… i-it was…” he started babbling, trying to wrap his head around it all.  What was it?  Amazing. Fantastic.  Bloody enamoring.  He was so in love… He swallowed and cleared his throat. “Lovely. It was so lovely.”

  
Thank you,” Mycroft commented, blinking himself now. Licking his lips, he glanced away and stared at the floor in attempt to hide the blush that was creeping onto his pale cheeks.  He glanced at Greg under his eyelashes. “That’s rather kind of you.”

 

“You’re bloody brilliant, my god,” Greg continued, adrenaline fueling him now.  He was practically vibrating.  He laughed in surprise. “Jesus, the way your fingers just _flew_ across the strings!  How in the world?  What was the song? It sounded… kinda familiar, at least. I can’t place it, though.”

 

“It’s called the Skater’s Waltz,” Mycroft answered after a moment, blinking again. “By Émile Waldteufel. He composed a lot of dance music. As for my movements, that’s just down to years of practice, Gregory.  I’ve been playing since I was just barely three years old.”

 

“Three… Christ,” Greg whispered, marveling the boy in front of him.  How could he ever… how could he ever be good enough for Mycroft?  Honestly?  He shifted a bit closer, his knee brushing the outside of Mycroft’s thigh. “It was beautiful.”

 

They stared at each other. Greg’s voice was hushed and serious, and even though neither of them said it, it was very clear he wasn’t just talking about the song anymore.  His heart was pounding so hard it was trying to burst from his chest.  Running a hand through his hair, he licked his lips nervously. He wanted to…

 

“Gregory,” Mycroft whispered, pale eyes flicking to his lips and then back to his eyes.  His own were slightly parted, and he was breathing shakily.

 

Swallowing, Greg reached over and brushed his knuckles along Mycroft’s cheek, never breaking their gaze. He leaned in, hesitating just enough to allow the other teen to stop him if this was not what he wanted. When none of that occurred, he moved in the rest of the way and very tentatively pressed their lips together.

 

The kiss was simple, and one of them was trembling, though Greg didn’t know whom.  Mycroft made a soft noise of surprise and something the older teen couldn’t quite place, and then he was kissing back, those talented fingers running through his dark hair now.  Greg thought he might pass out.  Finally, he broke the kiss with a soft gasp, and they stared at each other again. Greg couldn’t miss the flush that was very obviously going across Mycroft’s face now.

 

“You should play for me more often,” he whispered, smiling softly but his tone anything but joking. Mycroft managed a nod, huffing out a chuckle.

 

“Y-yes, I think…” He swallowed, just making Greg smile even more. “I think I have to agree with you.”


	337. Stubble Burn

“Gregory, I need to go,” Mycroft said softly, smiling even as he tilted his head back slightly to let the older man keep kissing along his neck.  He smiled, closing his eyes and humming slightly and draping his arms around Gregory’s shoulders.

 

“Nah, let Anthea cover for you,” his muttered against Mycroft’s neck, pressing close and nuzzling against his pulse point.

 

“Darling, we just got back from holiday, surely you’ve had enough of me for a week,” he said, taking a slight step back. As much as he would prefer to let his partner keep kissing him, he really had to get back to work.

 

They had just come back from a week in the country; spending time at a vacation home the Holmes family had acquired a few years back. It had been wonderful and exactly what they had needed, but now they were back in London and there was much to be done.  He had a lot of things to see to and a few meetings scheduled first thing that morning.

 

Mycroft couldn’t help but chuckle as Gregory began kissing him again, and finally, he was able to practically wiggle out of the man’s grasp.  He cupped his cheek, leaning in to kiss him gently.

 

“I will try not to be too late tonight,” he whispered, rubbing the scruffy salt and pepper beard that Gregory had grown over their trip. “Enjoy your last day off, yes?”

 

“Fine, if you must,” Gregory said, shoulders slumping playfully.

 

They shared a few more quick kisses before Mycroft left, stepping out into the wakening London morning and climbing into the car that was already waiting for him.  He was on his mobile, scanning through emails and briefing and working on getting back into the proper mindset for the day.

 

“Good morning sir,” Anthea said in greeting, glancing up from her Blackberry briefly as they walked in the door together. “The Prime Minister is here and waiting for whenever you get settled in. The Foreign Secretary is there as well.”

 

“He was not set to be in attendance,” Mycroft commented, raising his eyebrows.  Anthea nodded.

 

“I am aware,” she commented. “The Prime Minister apparently insisted he come along.  I have not quite figured their agenda, though I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.”

 

“Yes, I’m fairly certain as to what this is about,” he sighed, already feeling annoyed at what was ahead. “After you, Anthea.”

 

She lifted her head to look at him, raising her eyebrows and smirking, which Mycroft met with his own.  Taking off his coat, he brushed down his suit jacket for a moment and picked up a folder sitting on his desk.

 

The meeting was long and annoying. Mycroft had expected nothing less. It was toward the end of the meeting that an offhanded comment almost made him lose all concentration, and he almost lost his composure and stared openly.

 

“It seems you have a small rash, Mr. Holmes,” the Foreign Director had said.  Mycroft blinked.

 

“Pardon?” he asked, tilting his head. The man across from him motioned at him.

 

“Your neck and jaw look a bit red,” he explained.

 

Mycroft’s brain stuttered to a halt for a fraction of a second.  He saw Anthea casually cover her mouth with a hand, and he _knew_ she was holding back laughter.  He managed a polite smile and turned to the last page of documents set on the agenda.

 

“I shaved this morning,” he commented, his composure outwardly flawless, only hoping that his surprised embarrassment was concealed.

 

It was only when they were alone in his office afterward that Anthea actually began laughing out loud.  Mycroft dropped the documents back on his desk and turned to glare.

 

“I’m glad you find it hilarious,” he snapped. She just kept laughing.

 

“Your better half get a bit close this morning?” she grinned.  Mycroft shook his head and wandered over to glance at himself in the mirror. Sure enough, his usually pale skin was reddened along the areas that Gregory had been kissing him before he left the house.  He touched his jaw lightly before running a hand through his hair, feeling flustered.

 

“Are you quite finished?” he snapped, glaring at Anthea over his shoulder.

 

“Sorry sir,” she said, still laughing around her words. “Stubble burn suits you.”

 

“That is quite enough, unless you would prefer to spend the rest of the day running interference on Sherlock,” he threatened. She was still incredibly amused, but took a slow breath and returned back to her Blackberry. She was no longer laughing, but she had not been able to suppress the smile on her face.

 

“Apologies,” she commented again, typing away. “Shall we move on to the next item?”

 

“I would appreciate that,” Mycroft muttered, walking around to sit at his desk.  It was going to be another hour before his next meeting, so hopefully that was enough time to let the evidence of his earlier intimacy fade.


	338. All Fine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day I might stop writing Mystrade beginnings. BUT IT IS NOT THIS DAY.

Greg had been called to Mycroft’s office right as he was getting off his shift for the day.  He was exhausted and it irritated him a bit that the younger man thought he could just _summon_ him whenever he damn well felt like it, but he still didn’t refuse.  He never could, and maybe that’s why he would get so irritated about it.  He had to find a way to say no to the politician.  But… Well, he was a Holmes.

 

It seemed that his life had turned into chaos, being surrounded by Holmeses and never being able to say no to either of them.

 

 

He tried to ignore the way his heart fluttered in his chest as he entered the room and laid eyes on Mycroft sitting behind his desk, the picture of calm.  The younger man nodded at him and held a hand out, offering a chair, which Greg took with a smile.  This was the root of the reason why he couldn’t say no to Mycroft and he knew it. By agreeing, he got to see the man. He had developed a profound attraction for him, and he felt like he’d been successful enough to keep it to himself so far.  He hoped.

 

They spent the next hour discussing Sherlock and John, as usual, and the recent cases he’d been working on. It was about on par with their normal conversations, except that this one was… Well, honestly it was a bit pointless. Nothing of import had happened recently so there was no real reason for him to have been brought here. He could swear that they were basically making their version of small talk.

 

Mycroft never made small talk. Ever.  It was incredibly clear that he couldn’t be bothered. He was a busy and damn intelligent man and Greg could never picture him conversing about practically nothing. Yet, here they were. Something was different, something had changed.  But what?

 

He was dying to just ask.  He shifted in his chair, glancing down at the glass of whiskey he had been offered.  Mycroft was on the phone, having to excuse himself from their conversation. Greg only half paid attention, because none of what the man was saying made sense anyway.  He stared at his whiskey to keep from staring at Mycroft’s profile.

 

“Gregory,” he said a few moments later. Greg blinked and glanced up.

 

“Yeah?” he asked.

 

“Apologies for the interruption. You’re about done with your drink?”

 

“Oh, yeah, but I’m fine,” he said, finishing the drink and setting his glass down.  He didn’t need to have another, because one more would turn into three more, and he hadn’t eaten yet that day or anything.  He didn’t need to be getting drunk in Mycroft’s government office. Nope.  Bad idea.

 

“I was not quite thinking of another glass of whiskey,” Mycroft said, amusement shining in his eyes and a small smile playing on his lips.  They were genuine, and it was gorgeous.

 

Okay, so yeah, Greg had a problem.

 

“Oh?” he asked, trying to push the thought away.

 

“I had a bit of something else in mind,” the man continued, glancing down at his desk and adjusting some of the papers sitting there. If Greg didn’t know any better, he’d say that Mycroft was fidgeting.  Was he fidgeting?  Suddenly, Greg was sitting up straighter in his chair, every bit of his attention zeroed in on whatever was happening.

 

“Like what?” he forced himself to ask, not wanting for one second for Mycroft to clam up and abandon whatever he was thinking. Greg saw hesitance flash across his face and somehow knew that was a possibility, and he didn’t want that. He wasn’t sure if he’d want whatever was being proposed, but he wanted to hear it.

 

“If you find yourself with a free evening,” Mycroft began, his voice tight.  He still wasn’t looking at him. “Would you like to possibly accompany me down the road to a rather impressive Italian restaurant?  We could switch to a nice wine and have a meal.  If…”

 

“Yes,” Greg blurted out before Mycroft could finish his sentence.  Startled, the younger man blinked and finally looked at him.  Greg stopped breathing for a second, before breaking out into a grin when Mycroft nodded.

 

Dinner was amazing.  Delicious.  Mycroft paid, even though Greg tried to at least buy half.  He wasn’t even allowed to see the bill, which made him wonder how damn expensive it had all been.

 

It had started awkwardly, but it had gotten comfortable and enjoyable, and amazing.  They talked about themselves.  Greg actually learned about some of Mycroft’s personal interests, and heard some bloody hilarious tales of a younger Sherlock.  They were both laughing over their meals, completely at ease with one another.

 

As they left, the awkwardness came back. They lingered next to Mycroft’s car, Greg’s sitting down the road a bit.  They glanced at each other.   Mycroft seemed nervous?  Greg wanted to kiss him. He was taking a leap of faith in thinking that Mycroft wanted the same.

 

“Hey Mycroft?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.  Mycroft swallowed and looked at him.

 

“Yes?” he replied, his own voice just as hushed. Swallowing, Greg reached up and cupped his pale cheek, feeling him tense in shock at the touch.

 

“It’s fine,” he said, rubbing Mycroft’s cheekbone with his thumb.  His eyes flicked down to Mycroft’s lips and then back up to his eyes. “It’s _all_ fine.”

 

He learned immediately after that his leap of faith had been entirely correct.  He was also able to confirm that the feeling of Mycroft’s lips on his own was even better than he’d ever imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost forgot to mention! I'm going to an anime convention this weekend and will not have a computer at my disposal. So for the next two days I won't be able to post drabbles. Depending on when I get back on Sunday, I'll post two then and then two on Monday. That's my plan. :)


	339. Kissing Moods

“Hey, where are you going, c’mere,” Greg grinned, reaching out and grabbing hold of Mycroft’s hand.  He tugged the younger man close, wrapping his arms around his torso quickly and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.  Mycroft chuckled, leaning into the kiss and setting his hands on Greg’s waist.

 

“You are in a mood,” he muttered, their noses brushing against each other briefly as he turned his head.

 

“Yeah, I am a bit,” Greg nodded. His brown eyes scanned across Mycroft’s face as he leaned back in and kissed along his chin and jaw.

 

He could never say what caused this kind of streak in him.  Maybe it was just how stupid in love with this man he was.  Maybe it was just so overwhelming that he was actually here with Mycroft and it was the only way he could go about it.  Greg didn’t know.  He didn’t care. He could spend his entire life doing nothing else but kissing Mycroft Holmes and it would be a great life.

 

“We do need to consider dinner soon,” Mycroft said after a moment, turning his head as Greg continued to kiss along his jaw and down his neck.

 

“We’ll get to it,” he shrugged, speaking against pale skin.

 

“Will we?”

 

“Eventually.”

 

That comment had Mycroft chuckling again. That was something else Greg wanted to do forever.  He always wanted to make Mycroft laugh.  Finally, though, he sighed and stepped back, gazing up at his partner with a smile.

 

“Fine, dinner,” he surrendered, threading their fingers together and dragging Mycroft with him into the kitchen.

 

Of course, he couldn’t just leave things be as they made dinner.  It was a cooperative task, as it had become very commonly when neither one of them was loaded down with work.  They moved around the kitchen together perfectly, like they had always been this way. It was better than a dance. There was always a constant string of small touches as they passed each other, a brief connection as they went about their business, hardly stopping even as they did.

 

Tonight it was different.  Greg did pause as he moved by, setting things aside for the briefest of moments so he could press close and kiss Mycroft somewhere. Shoulder, bicep, jaw, cheek, hand, nose, lips.  He honestly couldn’t go five minutes without kissing the man.  To some people it could seem annoying, but Mycroft didn’t seem bothered by it at all, and that only made it even better.

 

After chopping up some vegetables, Greg pressed up behind Mycroft and snaked his arms around him.  He pushed up on his toes and started kissing the back of his neck, nuzzling the soft strands of hair there.  Mycroft huffed out laughter and shook his head.

 

“You are being ridiculous,” he said, glancing over his shoulder.  Greg grinned.

 

“Hush,” he said, moving back and dragging Mycroft away from the stove. 

 

“Gregory, the water is boiling,” Mycroft started to protest as he was turned around so that they were facing each other in the middle of the kitchen again.

 

“Sod the water, it’ll be there when we’re done,” Greg muttered, running his fingers through Mycroft’s hair and kissing him on the lips again.  One of them hummed and they kissed slowly, running their tongues against each other’s lips and tugging gently.  Nothing was heated or urgent, they were doing nothing more than kissing just for the sake of kissing, and Greg cursed lungs the moment they had to pull away in order to breathe.

 

“What has gotten into you?” Mycroft whispered, arching an eyebrow curiously.  Greg just shook his head, pressing up a bit higher and kissing the younger man’s angular nose gently.  Mycroft wrinkled it, blinking in surprise, and Greg grinned.

 

“Just… don’t wanna stop,” he replied, shrugging and grinning.  He dropped back down onto his feet normally, pressing a hand against the man’s chest and stroking the silk material of Mycroft’s tie gently, just gazing. “Just love you.”

 

“And I you,” Mycroft smiled, cupping Greg’s cheek and rubbing his skin with his thumb.

 

“Okay, back to dinner I suppose,” Greg grinned, even as he leaned back in and pressed his face into Mycroft’s neck. He took a moment to just breathe, closing his eyes and sighing happily, before pressing a few more kisses to Mycroft’s collarbone.  Then, after he’d allowed himself those few moments to just be wrapped in his partner’s presence, he allowed him to turn back to the stove and their pasta.


	340. Snow Adventures

Greg was in the kitchen, minding his own business and working on a fresh pot of coffee, when a rather loud and urgent noise from the other room almost had him dropping the damn mug.

 

“ _Daddy_!!!”

 

Thankfully, he caught himself before breaking one of his favorite mugs, and set the thing down before all but running into the next room with wide eyes.  His year-and-a-half old son was standing on the other side of the room, in front of the window with the curtain pushed aside.  He seemed… okay.  Greg exhaled.

 

“What is it buddy?” he asked, full of relief that nothing was actually wrong.  Though he still had no idea why Oliver had called for him so loudly. Of course, then he noticed outside. It was that moment that the boy turned with wide brown eyes, and lightly smacked the window.

 

“Look,” he said.  Greg did.  It was bright and very white outside; clearly it had snowed all night long.  It was the first snow of the winter and it was very clear to say that Oliver was fascinated by it.

 

“That’s snow,” Greg said, grinning and walking over to crouch down next to him.

 

“Ovosly,” Oliver huffed, an eerily perfect imitation of his Papa.  Greg bit his lip to keep from laughing.

 

“Pardon me, Mister,” he grinned, ruffling the boy’s hair. “I suppose you know all about snow, don’t you?”

 

“Course,” Oliver nodded, but he was staring outside in complete fascination.  It was amazing.  The boy had been too young last winter to really remember much about the weather, so he was experiencing it all over again for the first time. 

 

“Wanna examine it a bit further?” he grinned. Oliver was silent, staring outside, before pressing his index finger against the glass and turning to look at him.

 

“Need data,” came the answer.

 

“Need to keep you away from Uncle Sherlock a bit,” Greg muttered under his breath, shaking his head and grinning. “All right, Ollie, let’s get bundled up.  It’s cold.”

 

There was some complaining while Greg was tugging on warm, thick layers, but finally they were set to go and out they went. Greg slid open the door and took one step outside, before glancing over his shoulder at his son, who was standing at the threshold.

 

“You coming?” he asked gently, tilting his head to the side.  Oliver looked up at him and got a very “Mycroft” expression that the man couldn’t explain properly, which made him smile.  Then, slowly, Oliver stepped out.

 

The snow crunched under his boot and he sunk, which caused the boy to freeze and stare.  His eyes were as wide as saucers and his mouth was open, and Greg wished he had started recording the damn thing.  This was something that would never get old.  He stood there, watching his son stare at the snow, and finally take another step.  Then a third, and a fourth, and then the boy took off running.

 

“Cold!” Oliver shouted after he dropped down into the snow, emerging with it in his hair and all over his jacket. Greg was laughing.

 

“It sure is,” he nodded, walking over. “And you are covered in it.”

 

“Really cold, daddy.”

 

Greg brushed snow off Oliver’s head and red cheeks, before taking hold of his and gently pulling him up to stand again. Then, he reached down and scooped up some snow, holding it out in front of him as he packed it into a ball. Oliver watched, taking in every movement, and then crouched down to do it himself.  He grabbed snow and slammed it together, causing it all to crumble and fall.

 

“More gently, Ollie,” Greg chuckled as the boy huffed in annoyance. “Try again.”

 

Reaching down, Oliver grabbed more snow and looked up at him, before looking back down at his full hands and slowly pressed together.  The snow stuck together, and while it wasn’t really a snow _ball_ , it got the job done.  Greg was rewarded with his son looked up with the brightest smile on his face.

 

“Great job, that’s perfect,” Greg grinned, leaning in to press a kiss to the top of his head. “We should show Papa.”

 

“Yes!” Oliver agreed, cradling his lumpy snowball carefully in his hands.  Greg stood, and turned back towards the house.

 

“C’mon,” he motioned, and Oliver started to follow, stomping through the snow dramatically as they headed back towards the house. Greg caught a glimpse of his partner inside the house as the man walked through the sitting room, realizing that Oliver noticed him at almost exactly the same time.  They both called for him, earning an amused grin as Mycroft appeared at the open door.

 

“Myc!”

 

“Papa!”


	341. Secret Santa

“Donovan!” Greg shouted from inside his office, one knee propped against his chair, as he had been about to sit down. He was staring curiously at the object in the middle of his desk even as he called for his Sergeant, hearing her open the door before ever actually seeing her.

 

“Sir?” she asked.  Finally, Greg tore his gaze away and blinked at her, eyebrows raised.  He pointed at the box.

 

“What’s that?” he asked.  She glanced down and shrugged.

 

“Looks like a present,” she replied. Greg huffed.

 

“Yeah, I know _that_ ,” he said, glaring at the smirk she gave him. “The wrapping paper and weird little bow kinda gave that away.  Where did it _come_ from?”

 

“I dunno.”

 

“You didn’t put it there?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

 

“I wasn’t aware we were getting each other gifts,” Sally said in response, and Greg found himself shrugging this time.

 

“I wasn’t either, which is why I’m confused. Did one of the PCs get me something? Are fake snakes gonna jump out at me?”

 

“I dunno, but if they are, I want to film it,” Sally grinned widely, pulling out her mobile.  Greg rolled his eyes, sitting down in his chair.

 

“Put that away,” he scoffed.  Sally chuckled, but did so.   Stepping inside the room more, she walked over and plopped down into one of the two chairs positioned on the other side of his desk.

 

Slowly, Greg reached out and picked up the box. It had more weight to it than he’d expected.  Not that it was heavy, but it felt about the same as his mobile or something.  His brow furrowed as he brought it closer to him, carefully turning the box over in his hands.  The wrapping paper was a simple dark green color, taped shut and completed with a single red ribbon, tied in a bow.  It was all very basic; it was probably the least amount of flair he’d ever seen with a present.  He liked it.

 

“So are you attempting to x-ray it, or…?” Sally asked, breaking the silence.  Greg glanced up at her and glared.

 

“Look at you so eager to see,” he commented.

 

“Hey, I’m just as curious as you are.”

 

“I just want to know who…” Greg mumbled, tracing the ribbon with his finger.  Finally, he set the box back down where it was right in front of him and tugged at the bow. It fell off quickly, and he poked his tongue out briefly as he peeled back the paper.

 

His lips parted in surprise at the item inside. It was a new watch. It was a damn nice watch, too. It reminded him of the one he’d finally been forced to take off and get rid of a month ago, after years of wearing it. It had finally kicked the bucket and he hadn’t gotten around to getting a new one yet, using his mobile to keep track of things in the meantime.  He knew he could have always just stuck with his mobile, but it wasn’t the same. He’d always preferred the feeling of a watch around his wrist.

 

“Damn, that’s nice,” Sally commented, whistling. Greg nodded dumbly.

 

It had to be an updated version of the line his old one came from.  The similarities were too great.  It was clearly updated and he ventured to guess that it cost more than he would have ever considered on spending on himself.

 

“Definitely not one of the PCs then,” he muttered as he carefully picked the watch up, bringing it closer to his face. There was no way any of them could have afforded this.  **He** probably couldn’t have afforded it. Christ it was gorgeous. He licked his lips, before finally biting the bullet and putting it on.  It felt perfect.

 

“Is there a card?” Sally asked, leaning forward and resting her elbows on the desk.

 

“Um, dunno,” Greg said, leaning forward too and lifting the paper in search of some kind of card.  Finally, he found a small piece of white cardboard tucked away under the stand the watch had been sitting on.

 

_A man in your profession can only benefit from an item such as this. I hope it finds you well._

_M_

“There a name?” Sally asked, reaching over and snatching the card out of Greg’s grip.

 

“Oi!” he exclaimed, trying to take it back, but the woman was already moving away from him and reading what was on it.

 

“Who the hell is M?  What are we, James Bond?”

 

“I don’t _know_ ,” Greg said, finally able to grab the card and snatch it back. Sally laughed.

 

“Looks like you got yourself a Secret Santa, boss,” she said, pushed out of her chair. “Maybe even an admirer! You’re blushing!”

 

“Don’t you have work to be doing?” Greg snapped, earning another laugh from Sally as she left his office.

 

He leaned back, staring at the card again. M.  Well, he could venture a guess.  He didn’t know many people with this fancy flair for the dramatic. Running a hand through his hair, Greg huffed out a bit of shocked laughter.  If Mycroft Holmes really bought him a Christmas present… Well… Maybe he needed to play Secret Santa/Admirer himself…


	342. Decisions

Mycroft was dumbfounded.

 

It was not a state he ever found himself in. Though he supposed there was a first time for everything.  His just happened to come in the form of a text he had been staring at for a few minutes now at least.

 

_Parents asked about meeting you.  Suggested Christmas at their place?  Think it over. –G_

Mycroft blinked rapidly.  He glanced up at the CCTV streaming on his laptop, scanned the walls of his office, and then looked back down at the words again. He blinked again. He sighed.  Shifting his grip, his thumb hovered over the keyboard to begin his response, but instead of typing he just continued to stare.

 

Meet Gregory’s parents?  On top of that, meet Gregory’s parents over a holiday? While the day hardly held any major significance to him anymore, it continued to do so for most people. Christmas meant family time and love and food and whatever else families did.  It was an exhausting tradition that his own parents attempted to drag both him and Sherlock to every year, though he managed to get out of it a majority of the time.  Never was he more thankful for national crises than around the holidays.

 

Mycroft had always preferred to work. Even when he was younger he hadn’t taken much stock in Christmas.  His parents had hardly been able to instill the magic of Santa and reindeer and all that nonsense when he was a child, and while his peers always found it quite queer, he’d never desired it to be otherwise.

 

Now, his… boyfriend (Mycroft still wished there was a less juvenile-sounding term for their relationship, though he supposed the only other option was partner… perhaps…) was asking him to Christmas with his family.  He was inclined to accept so he could avoid making things awkward between the two of them, because if Gregory had not wanted him to meet his family he would never have mentioned it. That was just the way the older man was. However, Mycroft was not one for holiday celebrations, and while he had always been aware of the two of them meeting the other’s families, he did not think that Christmas was the best time to do it.

 

“Sir?” came Anthea’s voice after a few moments. Blinking, Mycroft tore his eyes away from the screen and glanced up, where his PA was standing at his side. It was strange that he had not noticed her arrival.

 

“Yes?” he asked, setting the mobile down on his desk.

 

“The briefing for your meeting in an hour,” Anthea prompted, handing over a thick folder.  Mycroft nodded and took it, noting how she was glancing at _his_ mobile instead of her own.  It spoke to how much he trusted her that he even allowed her to look at his messages.

 

“Is there something else?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.  He clearly already knew the answer, and if Anthea had thoughts on Gregory’s text it would be best to give her the chance to voice them now and move on.  She was quite persistent and it would save them both a lot of energy.

 

“He’s asking you to meet his parents,” she said simply. Mycroft nodded.

 

“He is.”

 

There was a quiet moment where Anthea lifted her eyes to gaze into his.  Mycroft tiled his chin, not breaking the eye contact as he waited patiently. Her head tilted to the side just a fraction, eyes slanting, and then she was glancing back down again.

 

“You’re considering the least offensive way to decline.”

 

Mycroft hummed noncommittally. He wasn’t ready to jump at the chance to reveal how correct she was.  This was Gregory, after all, not a diplomat.  It was all so different.

 

“If I might make a suggestion,” Anthea prompted. Mycroft nodded for her to continued, and she pressed her lips together in a thin line before speaking again. “You would regret that course of action, Mr. Holmes.  You should accept.”

 

Mycroft opened his mouth to speak, but Anthea was already turning back to her Blackberry and moving away from the desk.

 

“Your meeting is in 45 minutes, sir.”

 

“Thank you, Anthea.”

 

Mycroft never needed reminders of his schedule, yet it was something she insisted on.  It was part of their working relationship, he supposed.  Turning back towards his desk, he set the folder down and picked his mobile back up, staring at the text again.  Anthea’s words rang in his mind. 

 

Would he really regret it if he refused to go? Mycroft never doubted Anthea’s insight, and her advice had proven to be invaluable before.  He could not deny the assistance she provided that helped bring him to Gregory in the first place.  All of a sudden he found himself more uncomfortable with the idea of jeopardizing anything with Gregory than his desire to keep to himself as he had always done.

 

_Let’s discuss the details over dinner tonight.  I can pick you up at 8?  -MH_

 

Yes, it seemed that a weekend of potentially uncomfortable family meetings was much more preferable to any strain their relationship could endure otherwise.


	343. Coming To His Defense

Mycroft could watch Gregory move across a room and talk all day long.  The man would never see it in himself, but he was gorgeous and drew the attention of everyone nearby. Smiling softly to himself, the politician watched his partner as he talked with a few other officers that had been invited to the event.

 

“So even the great Mycroft Holmes has found attachment,” came a voice from behind him.  Mycroft sighed through his nose and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose before composing himself and turning.

 

“Good evening, Alistair,” he greeted frigidly. Alistair Bentley also worked in Transportation, a few positions under him, the man crawled along everything in attempt to get noticed.  Mycroft despised him.

 

“Never would have thought you would have it in you to love anyone,” Alistair smirked, crossing his arms and tilting his head to the side.

 

“Well I can’t say that you know me very well, so I’m not surprised by your limited assumption,” Mycroft sighed. He would be perfectly fine if this conversation were to end right about now.  He wasn’t inclined to be very polite either.  The man intentionally got under Mycroft’s skin almost to the point where he couldn’t hold it back.  If the man wanted to bring Gregory into it, things would not stay polite for long.

 

“A police officer too, how ordinary,” Alistair continued.  He either had no clue what he was opening up, or didn’t care.  Mycroft couldn’t decide which was more annoying an option. “Sure, he’s a Detective Inspector, so that says something, but… even in comparison I wouldn’t call his arrest record impressive.  After all, your own brother must solve over half his cases at least.”

 

Mycroft felt a prickle of fury flood through him. The absurdity of the statement was annoying enough on its own.  The man was speaking about things he was clueless on, which was even more infuriating. For him to be speaking ill of Gregory... The man shook his head and stared harshly at his colleague.

 

“Alistair, I’m going to do you a favor and stop you right now,” he began, his voice hard. “I don’t know how you can stand there and think that it’s a good idea to speak ill of my partner to my face like you are right now.  You know me well enough to know that I can and will make your life incredibly difficult, so it is in your best interest to stop speaking now.

 

“I would do you the favor of letting you turn and leave now, but I don’t find myself so willing to offer that mercy. So you will listen to me closely. The fact is that you shouldn’t be allowed in the same room as Gregory Lestrade.  To say he is merely a police officer is a greater insult than your small mind can understand. For you to further insult him by dismissing the great lengths he has gone to in order to solve cases by saying that Sherlock Holmes solves them is unforgiveable.”

 

Alistair was staring, eyes wide and lips parted. Mycroft was making quite an impact. He supposed he could leave it at that, but no.  He was a bit too worked up to stop now.  He found he wanted to just go ahead and get it all out of his system now.

 

“Gregory became a Detective Inspector before meeting either Sherlock or myself.  Every one of his promotions was his alone.  While it is true that Sherlock assists on cases, it is not to the extent you seem to quick to accuse of.  My brother is truly a selfish creature at heart, much like myself, so I can assure you that the arrest is not quite his end goal.  That is something that Gregory takes the initiative of, and if it happens to line up with Sherlock at times then so be it.”

 

Alistar shifted, eyes darting nervously.

 

“Not only is he the most intelligent and hard working man ten feet from Scotland Yard, he is the bravest and kindest man I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.  He is infuriating because of how full of surprises he is, he works unforgivingly long hours and hardly ever gets the thanks and respect he deserves. He is a better man than you could ever hope for and if you value anything in your life you will turn and walk away without another word.”

 

Silence fell between them.  The man was frozen in spot, and Mycroft suddenly felt incredibly relieved for having said all that.  Alistar’s mouth moved, and Mycroft glared.

 

“Not.  Another. Word.”

 

With a huff, Alistair turned on his heel and strode off quicker than was natural.  Mycroft felt some of the tension fall off his shoulders.  He sighed and tilted his head, popping his neck, when there was a chuckle from behind him.

 

“Why Myc, listen to you defending my honor,” came Gregory’s voice, soft and adoring.  Mycroft smiled as he turned to gaze at his partner.

 

“I only speak the truth,” he whispered, cupping the older man’s cheek.  Gregory closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.

 

“Let’s go home?” he suggested, opening his eyes again to gaze up at him.  Mycroft smiled.

 

“I would like nothing more.”


	344. Bit Too Much

Greg stared at Mycroft across from him in the car as they made their way home.  On the outside, he seemed to be the same, put-together, intimidating politician that everyone was acquainted with.  Greg knew the man much more intimately, though.  Even as he sat there, glancing out the window with his face impassive, it was the little things that gave away his actual state.

 

The most amusing sign of the younger man being drunk was the way he swayed as the car turned and shifted.  It might only be a fraction of movement each time, but Greg saw the way Mycroft’s body slanted, tugging on the seatbelt and tightening against his suit slightly.  There was also a distinct lack of focus in his normally-piercing eyes.  Instead of looking right into you, Mycroft was more… looking past you at nothing in particular.

 

“All right, love?” he asked softly, startling Mycroft from whatever daze he’d fallen into.  He tore his eyes away from the window and blinked at Greg rapidly, before nodding.

 

“Yes of course,” he answered hurriedly, tilting his head slightly. “Why?”

 

“Bit too much eggnog back there,” he commented with a grin.  Mycroft huffed.

 

“They failed to mention that it was an alcoholic mixture,” Mycroft defended, crossing his arms loosely. “The party was stupid anyway.”

 

Greg snorted, unable to keep his laughter hidden. Mycroft sounded more like Sherlock than ever with that statement, and the way he tilted his chin just made the moment even more priceless.  Mycroft gave him a look, and Greg just shrugged.

 

“Everything tasted pretty good,” he commented. Mycroft made a defiant noise in the back of this throat.

 

“I suppose, for pale imitations of the way the food is properly prepared in its respective country,” Mycroft began to ramble. “Interesting that the host thought it best to keep it mixed up in such a way instead of sticking to the traditional Christmas treats we are familiar with. Eggnog is most common in American, you know.  It’s painfully obvious.”

 

“Is that so?” Greg asked with raised eyebrows, amusement in his voice.

 

“Naturally.  Though, no one truly knows _where_ the recipe originated.  It was fairly popular amongst British aristocracy, of course, but it became ridiculously popular in the early colonies and thus, continues to be more traditionally consumed over there,” Mycroft explained, waving a hand around as he spoke.

 

“Okay then, random history lesson,” Greg chuckled. “Did you really not know it was spiked?”

 

“Don’t be tedious Gregory, of course I did,” Mycroft practically glared, rolling his eyes. “It was not difficult to taste the brandy that had been very heavy-handedly poured in.  I am fairly certain it was a cognac, most likely aged four years. Let’s hope so, anyway, because anything older would honestly be a waste to dilute in a mixture like that.”

 

“Yeah, that would be a shame,” Greg commented.

 

“Sarcasm is very unbecoming on you, Gregory,” Mycroft commented.  If Greg hadn’t been so incredibly amused by all this he might’ve felt a prickle of irritation at that.  He just couldn’t, though. “I noticed you hardly drank any yourself.”

 

“Eh, too thick,” Greg shrugged. “If I wanted a drink that thick, I’d order a Guinness.  Wasn’t too fond of the nutmeg on top either, I don’t think. That’s better in mulled wine or my mum’s pies.”

 

“Mmmm, yes, I suppose,” Mycroft nodded, pale eyes scanning across Greg’s form quickly.

 

Before finally getting home, Mycroft went off on at least two other tirades, which Greg remained silent and amused for. He was very-openly deducing other guests at the Christmas party they had been attending that evening. While he never did so to their faces (like a certain other Holmes did), his deductions were sharper and even more impressive than the ones Greg was forced to listen to almost daily. It was fantastic. It was something Greg honestly wished he _would_ do more often, but Mycroft chose to be a lot more reserved and file them away in his own mind instead.

 

Arm in arm, they went straight for the bedroom once they were finally in the privacy of their own home.  Mycroft was being warm and affectionate, hands wandering along Greg’s sides gently and his angular nose in Greg’s hair. Both of them stripped down to their boxers, Mycroft still being too drunk to care about dressing in his usual pajamas, and together they collapsed into bed.

 

“Wanna have sex?” Mycroft mumbled as Greg draped an around around his waist and snuggled close.  It was a serious proposition, but it was lined with enough fatigue that Greg couldn’t ignore.  He smiled.

 

“You’re drunk, Myc,” he whispered, their bodies slotting together perfectly as he bent his legs at the knees and pressed his chest to the taller man’s back.

 

“I do believe we have ascertained that, yes,” Mycroft said. “The question remains.”

 

“Go to sleep love,” Greg chuckled affectionately, pressing a soft kiss to the back of his neck. “We’ll revisit that in the morning.”

 

“Mmm, yes,” Mycroft drawled, already going pliant with sleep in Greg’s arms.  He was out seconds later, breathing evenly and his face serene.  Greg lightly kissed his neck again, closing his eyes and letting himself fall asleep with a smile on his face.


	345. Mycroft's Posh Friend

Greg felt really dumb for being jealous but sometimes he just couldn’t help himself.  He knew Mycroft loved him, there was no doubt about that. There was no doubt about how solid their relationship was.  But when he saw Mycroft with one of the colleagues he was actually friends with… He couldn’t help the subconscious feelings that flooded through him.

 

He was currently in the kitchen, having to excuse himself while Mycroft and his equally posh and handsome friend Christian were laughing and discussing stuff over a game of chess.  He left under the pretense of fetching wine. He just needed to adjust. Mycroft only ever laughed and smiled like that around _him_ , and he knew he was being stupid and selfish.  He wasn’t a bloody teenager for gods’ sake.

 

Yet here he was.

 

Fiddling with the corkscrew and staring at the wine he’d just gotten from the holder on the counter, Greg sighed. This bloke had a lot of the same interests as Mycroft, and they held conversation easily.  They talked about things that went right over Greg’s head, and Mycroft seemed absorbed in it all.

 

What did he have, really, compared to this guy? He was charming and attractive and intelligent.  He talked about politics and literature, not punk rock and football.  He dressed nicely, and probably didn’t have a drawer full of tattered jeans and sweatpants.  He seemed to prefer wines and brandy to any beer you could find.

 

Greg had always been confident and unapologetic over his entire personality and self, yet here he was standing in the middle of the kitchen and wondering how.  How could someone as posh and smart as Mycroft stand being with him when he was close friends like Christian?  It just… it hit him oddly.

 

“Gregory, are you having trouble with that wine?” Mycroft asked as he strode into the kitchen, a playful smirk on his face. Greg tensed and gripped the corkscrew tighter, trying hurriedly to compose himself and force a smile. It didn’t work, and he knew it immediately. The playfulness fell away from Mycroft’s face immediately, pale eyes scanning his face as he approached slowly.

 

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly, reaching out and cupping Greg’s cheek.  The touch was warm and made his heart skip a beat.

 

“Nothing,” he sighed, closing his eyes and leaning into the touch.  _Just push it down, Greg, you’re a bloody idiot._

 

“Don’t give me that,” Mycroft challenged, arching an eyebrow. “You know I can always tell when you’re lying.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Greg mumbled, shifting his weight a bit.

 

“Gregory, talk to me.”

 

Greg opened his eyes again and gazed up at his partner. He was looking at him with concern obvious on his face.  He knew the younger man wouldn’t let either of them leave the room without actually answering the question, but even as he was forming his response, he felt incredibly stupid.

 

“It’s just… Christian,” he sighed, gesturing towards the sitting room.

 

“What about him?” Mycroft asked, clearing thinking back to the entire night to try and find where the offense might have landed.

 

“Nothing bad,” Greg said quickly, shrugging. “Maybe that’s the problem.  He’s so posh and smart and awesome.  Perfect for… and then there’s just… me.  And I just…”

 

“You can’t possibly be standing here saying that Christian is better suited for me than you are,” Mycroft blinked, looking as baffled as Greg had ever seen him.

 

“Isn’t he though?” Greg asked, biting his lip. “I mean, come on.  He’s just… He is. He’s bloody _perfect_ for you.  He gets your conversation and doesn’t torture you with football.”

 

“I like when you torture me with football,” Mycroft said lightly, eyes shining with his light tease.  Greg snorted.

 

“Thanks,” he drawled.  Mycroft sighed.

 

“Perhaps that came out wrong,” the taller man admitted, shifting to lean his hip against the counter. “Listen to me, Gregory. If I was not happy with you we would not be together.  You know me never to put up with something I did not want.  Something this intimate is definitely no exception.”

 

Greg swallowed, eyes locked on Mycroft’s face as he spoke.  His heart was racing.

 

“I can’t explain the shock I am feeling in thinking that anyone I could find would be better suited for this than you,” Mycroft continued. “I am completely baffled that you do not understand just how wonderful and perfect you are.  You are everything I never predicted that I realize now I needed.”

 

“Mycroft…”

 

“I love you, Gregory.  Christian is just a friend.  At the end of the day, I want no one else near my bed than you.”

 

Mouth twitching up in a smile, Greg pressed up on the balls of his feet and pressed close to kiss Mycroft passionately. It was returned in kind. Greg knew it was stupid to have been concerned about it, but hearing Mycroft say all that… He felt better for it anyway.  Fuck he was so lucky.


	346. Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by my favorite Mystrade fanart abitto has done: http://abitto.tumblr.com/post/60917145397/a-quicky-before-bed-night-at-the-mystrade

Sometimes when Mycroft had to go away, Greg would have nightmares.  It was an irrational reaction, he knew, which almost made it more frustrating when they happened.  The basis of the nightmare would change frequently, but the theme was always the same: he would lose Mycroft.  Somehow, someway, the politician was ripped out of his life in his dreams, leaving Greg gasping and shaking when he woke.

 

He’d never been one for recurring nightmares for the majority of his life.  He’d gotten some earlier in his career after a few particularly gruesome cases, and occasionally they would come creeping back for a day or two if something he worked was a little too close to them, but that was really about it.  Then, early on in his relationship with Mycroft, the man had been involved in an explosion.  He had then proceeded to be kidnapped and tortured for two days before he was found and recovered.

 

Greg had been beyond terrified when this all happened. Anthea had been a godsend, staying on the phone with him for long periods of time and updating him every hour. She did her best, and he would be eternally grateful for that.  The whole event was a bit traumatizing though, and so the nightmares began.

 

It happened almost every time Mycroft had to go away. Sometimes it would be straight away that very first night, as he tried to adjust to sleeping alone in their bed. Other times, they didn’t start until a day or two after.  Once they did, though, they happened nightly.  Greg was completely exhausted, too tense and scared to let himself sleep, but needing to get it.  When his partner had the time, they would talk on the phone or Skype call until he got tired enough to sleep. He never slept through a full night, but falling asleep to Mycroft’s soothing voice at least kept them at bay for a few hours.

 

This time around, they were coming up on two weeks and Greg was averaging maybe two, three hours of sleep a night. The bags under his eyes had to be monstrous (both Sally and John had said something at this point). He’d tried drinking a few beers right before bed, and he’d tried sleeping pills.  The pills only made the nightmares worse, so that was a big no. So he continued to suffer, sitting on the couch and staring at whatever bizarre programming was on at almost 4am.

 

He was startled when he heard the front door being unlocked and then opened, his heart leaping up in his throat. He sucked in a breath and sat, frozen, staring at the hallway, waiting.  Mycroft wasn’t supposed to be back yet, he hadn’t said anything… Greg’s brain was going too fast for him to keep up with, but it all came crashing to a halt when he saw the taller man step into the sitting room, suit jacket already off and draped over his arm.  Mycroft blinked and they gazed at each other for a moment.  Greg shifted but said nothing, letting his partner take him in and read what he could.  He knew that’s what was happening, of course.

 

“You’ve not been sleeping again,” Mycroft muttered softly, and Greg shook his head with a huff.  He never did when Mycroft was away.  The comment was almost routine at this point, a simple deduction just like the last time, and the time before that, and the one before that. Slowly, Mycroft made his way over and sat on the very edge of the sofa.

 

“Myc,” Greg started, but the words fell away. Instead, he just closed his eyes and breathed deeply, letting the scent of his partner hit him. The mixture of shampoo, cologne, and the earthier smell that was just _Mycroft_ was so soothing he had to fight back tears of relief.

 

“Let’s go to bed,” was all Mycroft said before standing again.  Greg looked up at him and watched as he draped his jacket over the back of the sofa and held a hand out in offer.  Greg reached for it and grasped the hand warmly, standing and threading their fingers together as they walked silently through their home.

 

When they got to the bedroom, Mycroft let Greg undress him.  Neither of them spoke; they didn’t need to.  Greg was slow as he took off each layer, pausing to press his hands against Mycroft’s bare chest and feel his heartbeat.  It was only once Mycroft stepped out of his trousers and stood there in nothing but his pants that Greg stepped forward and buried his face into the taller man’s collarbone.

 

Slender arms wrapped around him, hugging tightly. Greg wrapped his own arms around Mycroft and clung to him.  His anxiety was falling away piece by piece, exhaustion truly starting to take over. He sighed, breathing in the scent of the man again, before stepping back.

 

Mycroft’s first night back home, he never dressed in his own pajamas.  Instead, all he ever wore was whatever pants he had on, and one of Greg’s t-shirts. Tonight was no different, and together they fell into bed, Greg immediately pressing up against Mycroft’s back and wrapping his arms back around him.

 

All of this was his way of surround Mycroft in himself again.  The clothing, the routine, the sleeping positions… It was what Greg needed.  It was a way for him to normalize himself and feel at ease, and Mycroft knew that.  He never said a word against it or tried to change it up, because he knew Greg just needed it. Perhaps the younger man needed it too. Greg was pretty confident that was the case.

 

Sighing, Greg pressed his cheek against Mycroft’s shoulder blade.  His arms bent up to settle against Mycroft’s chest, practically clinging to the man, and he smiled as one of Mycroft’s hands settled right under his elbow.  Bending his legs, Greg curled them up against Mycroft’s, slotting together perfectly.  It was only then, wrapped in each other and surrounded in the warmth of their bodies and their duvet, that they would start to speak again.

 

“Missed you,” Greg whispered, lifting his chin enough to press a kiss to warm skin right above the t-shirt’s collar.

 

“And I you,” Mycroft whispered in return, turning his wrist so he could gently grasp Greg’s elbow. “Goodnight, Gregory.”

 

And finally, it was once again.


	347. Dinner, Snow, and A Surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one also inspired by a work of abitto's. Her Mystrade art gives me life. http://abitto.tumblr.com/post/70869011641/my-merry-christmas-to-tumblr-u-sherlock

Greg stood in front of his mirror, sighing nervously as he messed with his hair for what had to be the millionth time. He’d honestly lost count. It had never been more important that he look good, though.  He was going on a date with Mycroft Holmes, and they were going to one of the most fancy restaurants this side of London, and no matter what he knew he’d feel incredibly out of place.

 

Sure, maybe he had gone out earlier that day and bought a new suit.  It wasn’t anything like Mycroft’s impeccable three-piece suits he always wore, because that was quite a bit out of his price range, but it was still the nicest set of clothes he’d owned in a while.  He’d told himself as he was shelling out the funds that it was practical because it would be good for work functions and such, but he’d be lying if he denied it’s main purpose.

 

How serious was it that he would put forth this kind of effort for his date with Mycroft?  It wasn’t something he’d ever done for anyone else before, so that said something all on its own.  He still had no clue what about him caught Mycroft’s eye, but he wasn’t complaining.

 

He glanced at the clock and licked his lips. He had about ten more minutes or so before Mycroft would be there to get him.  That was enough time for him to continue to fret over his appearance and consider texting Sally in his nervous panic.  He licked his lips and picked up his mobile, rubbing his thumb absently over the keys before setting it back down.  There was no reason to pester Sally.

 

Tilting his chin up, Greg brushed at his clothes to smooth things down, looking for the smallest of wrinkles and trying to get rid of them.  After messing with his hair _again_ , he freshened up with a dash of cologne and glanced outside just as his mobile chimed and announced his date’s arrival.

 

He let out a shaky breath and pocketed his mobile. Heading over to the door, he pulled on his black pea coat, waiting to button it up until he had also wrapped a red scarf with green designs on it around his neck.  Then, he tugged on his black leather gloves and squared his shoulders, leaving his flat.

 

Mycroft emerged from the black car that had driven up, looking stunning in his dark green coat and brown leather gloves. Greg felt a shiver run through his body, and he doubted it was from the snow that had started to fall. He offered the taller man a smile as they walked towards each other, slowing when they were face to face.

 

“Evening,” he grinned, looking up at Mycroft. The man smiled back.

 

“Quite,” he nodded. “I am looking forward to dinner.”

 

“You ‘n me both,” Greg beamed, his breath coming out in puffs in the night air.

 

“It snowed earlier than I had thought,” Mycroft started to say, as if he was attempting to apologize for the weather. Greg found it adorable. “However, I am always prepared.”

 

Mycroft took hold of the black umbrella that was draped on his elbow, taking a step back so he could lift and open it between them. He stepped forward again so that it covered both of them and smiled, polite but genuine.  Greg opened his mouth to give his thanks, but noticed a dash of color against the black of the umbrella.  Blinking, he glanced up and his lips parted as he saw the mistletoe hanging right in the wiring.

 

Mycroft looked up as well, curious at what caught his attention, and froze at the sight.  The look Greg saw cross his face was even more adorable, and Greg felt himself grinning again.

 

“Well look at that,” he said softly, teasing lightly. Mycroft’s pale face reddened from a mixture of chill and embarrassment.

 

“It had to be Sherlock,” he began to explain hurriedly, pale eyes flicking this way and that. “One of his many tedious ways to attempt making a fool out of me.  No doubt he was aware of our date tonight and-“

 

Mycroft attempted explanation came to a halt as Greg lifted a hand and took hold of the umbrella handle, resting right above his own. He sucked in a breath at the affectionate smile Greg was giving him, and the older man risked stepping a fraction closer.

 

“Sherlock or no, mistletoe is not quite just for decoration,” he whispered.  His heart was pounding in his chest and his mind was racing, wondering if he was making a wrong decision, but… something in his gut told him to risk it.

 

“Y-yes, I am aware,” Mycroft muttered, shifting his weight slightly.  Their eyes never left each other.

 

“So how about…” Greg started, voice trailing off hesitantly.  He licked his lips, his stomach fluttering in the way pale eyes moved towards the motion immediately.  Then, the hand not wrapped around the umbrella reached up to very slightly cup Mycroft’s cheek. He let out a shaky breath and pushed up on his toes, Mycroft tilting his head to the side.

 

Warmth spread through Greg’s slightly chilled body as they kissed.  Their lips pressed together, sending tingles through him, and he sighed into it. In terms of kisses it wasn’t the more exciting thing in the world, nothing but a slight press of their lips, but it was amazing.  He wanted to toss dinner aside and bring the man in for a drink.  But they had reservations, so…

 

“Now,” he commented, gazing up at Mycroft, lowering his hand to rest against the man’s bicep. “How about that dinner?”

 

“Yes,” Mycroft nodded, smiling and huffing out what seemed to be relieved laughter.  Greg chuckled, heart ready to burst as Mycroft took his hand and led him towards the car.


	348. Greg's First Time

When Greg went over to Mycroft’s house that evening for dinner and drinks, he wasn’t quite sure where it would lead. They had been involved with each other for close to six months now, and things were getting pretty serious. Now, here he was, on his back and completely nude, with Mycroft hovering over him.

 

“We don’t have to do this if you’re not ready,” Mycroft said gently, straddling his hips but careful to not cover him with his own body.  Greg swallowed, giving himself a moment to let his eyes wander over his equally naked body and shiver. The sight of Mycroft’s body, not hidden by any article of clothing whatsoever, made Greg’s body run hot. He exhaled and shook his head.

 

“I am,” he said.  His voice was honestly a lot more solid than he expected, because he was nervous.  Even so, he had never been more sure about anything in his life.  Mycroft offered him a soft smile and leaned in to capture his mouth in a slow kiss.

 

Greg sighed into it, his body relaxing into the mattress.  They kissed for what felt like an eternity, only breaking the kiss so they could both take in a few needed breaths.  However, almost immediately after Mycroft gathered his breath, he was moving down and kissing Greg’s neck. He moved down, kissing and licking at Greg’s quickly rising pulse point, and then down to his collarbone where he bit and sucked gently.  Greg arched up, his chest pressing into Mycroft’s, groaning at the sensations.

 

This was all still so new to him. That’s where the nervousness came from. Sure, he had experimented a bit when he was in uni – who didn’t?  However, some sloppy drunken handjobs in the dark and awkward blowjobs in another bloke’s bunk hardly counted for experience.  All of his solid sexual experiences had all been with women.

 

He’d always suspected he was at least bisexual. He’d been curious in uni and not repulsed by what he’d done.  However, he’d fallen for girl after girl, and then he was married, and it just… never left room open to further examine that part of him.  It was set aside, apart from the occasional flare of attraction for a guy he met, and he hardly thought about it.

 

When he got divorced, he became aware of it again. Mycroft had it all come crashing down on his head.  He was more than attracted to this man, as was easily proven by how he was drawn to him. He’d fallen for the man, and the dramatic physical reactions he had to him made it obvious it wasn’t just a crush. He started having very intimate dreams, leaving him breathing and achingly hard in his trousers.

 

He gasped when Mycroft’s lips closed around one of his nipples, yanking him back to the here and now.  His cock twitched with interest, brushing against Mycroft’s thigh as he shifted underneath him.  He chewed on his bottom lip and gripped the sheets under him tightly, whimpering.

 

This was not the first time he and Mycroft had become intimate with each other, but it hardly moved past blowjobs. Recently, Greg had let Mycroft explore more with his fingers, which felt bloody amazing and left him surprisingly desperate for more.  Tonight… tonight they would go all the way.

 

The next thing he knew, Mycroft was reaching for a bottle of lube and a condom, pulling himself up after having Greg writhing on the sheets and his erection in his mouth.  Greg exhaled, biting his lip again and watching.  A new wave of nerves shot through him.  Mycroft, of course, never missed a thing.

 

“Are you sure Gregory?” Mycroft asked, watching him with care.  His hair was messy from Greg’s fingers, his lips glistening with moisture and his cheeks flush with desire.  He was beautiful, and Greg ached for him.  He nodded.

 

“I’m sure,” he responded, voice rough and deep. He watched Mycroft shiver at the sound, and he couldn’t help but grin. “I’m ready.”

 

“Tell me if it hurts too much,” Mycroft whispered.

 

The sound of a packet being ripped open sounded in the room, and Greg pushed himself up just enough to watch Mycroft roll the condom over his erection.  It was such a simple action but Greg found it incredibly hot.  He looked up at the younger man’s face just in time for Mycroft to start kissing him again.

 

Moments later, when Mycroft pushed inside, Greg gasped with a mixture if pain and pleasure.  The pain began to dull almost instantly, Greg shifting as Mycroft waited for him to adjust.  After a moment Greg looked up again and their eyes locked, and the older man nodded. It was all Mycroft needed to start moving.  Greg groaned and gasped, arching off the bed and practically begging for more, and Mycroft gave more.

 

In the moments where orgasm hit them both, Greg clutched desperately at Mycroft.  He saw stars as he cried out, and all the confusion was gone.  The nervousness was gone.   As Mycroft slowly pulled out of him and drew him into a lazy kiss, he realized that this was what he was waiting for, and it was _perfect_.


	349. Early Presents

There was a fire roaring in the sitting room, mulled wine on the stove (its smell wafting through the entire house), and snow falling outside.  The night was chilled and dark, the stars sparkling in the dark sky.  This was the kind of shit you saw in the movies, or on Christmas cards, but never really expected to experience yourself.  You just didn’t quite get this experience in the heart of London, which made getting away for a few days that much more amazing.

 

Greg couldn’t help but smile to himself as he gazed at the Christmas tree in the sitting room.  It was the only other source of light in the room, the flames flickering brightness along the walls, and he sighed as he shoved his hands in his pockets. He might not have done any of this decorating himself (all of this done by the minimal staff that kept up the house when no one from the Holmes family stayed), but it felt like it. He felt a peace he thought he’d forgotten.

 

He hummed when slender arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him close.  Smiling wider, Greg leaned into the taller body, loving the feeling of a chin resting on his shoulder.  He would be fooling himself if he thought this happiness, this peace, was for any other reason than him.

 

“What’s going on in that head?” Mycroft asked softly, pressing a kiss to his neck.  Greg tilted his head.

 

“You tell me,” he teased playfully, bringing his hands up to rest on top of Mycroft’s arms.  The younger man chuckled, running the tip of his nose along Greg’s jawline briefly.

 

“You are more relaxed than you have been in two months,” Mycroft began, continuing to move his nose up Greg’s cheek, across his ear, and into his hair. “You find the warmth comforting and the lights on the tree beautiful.  You are finding it hard to believe that this mixture of elements could actually be taking place right now, convincing yourself that it’s only ever seen in the most ridiculous of holiday romantic comedies.  However, I assure you Gregory, this is all quite real.  I’m not going to pinch you and cause you to wake up in our bed back in London.”

 

“Spot on, as always,” Greg whispered proudly, gripping Mycroft’s arm a little tighter.

 

“Come sit with me by the fire?”

 

“I’d love to.”

 

As Mycroft stepped back, Greg turned and gazed at him affectionately.  He reached out, taking hold of his partner’s hand and threading their fingers together. They walked across the sitting room, over to an area where they had put down quite a few cushions near to the fire where they could sit comfortably on the floor.  With his free hand, Greg grabbed two blankets as they passed a sofa, plopping down on the cushions with a soft grunt and motioning for Mycroft to join him.

 

Once they were both sitting on the floor, legs curled together comfortably, Greg passed a blanket over to Mycroft and grabbed the other for himself.  He began to hum ‘It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas’, bouncing his foot, and Mycroft just laughed and rolled his eyes.  They nudged at each other playfully, tugging and laughing and kissing, until Greg tugged Mycroft close and hugged him tight enough that he couldn’t pull away.

 

“Let go,” Mycroft huffed, pushing against his chest with no actual force.  Greg laughed and shook his head.

 

“Nope,” he refused. “Not unless you make it worth my while.”

 

“Oh really now?” Mycroft asked, raising his eyebrows.

 

“Yup.”

 

“And to think I was going to fetch us some mulled wine,” Mycroft sighed, pretending to be resigned and forlorn. There was a pause and a brief silence settled over them, only broken by the crackling of the fire, before Greg released him.

 

“Okay you win,” he laughed again brightly. “Go, wine, yes.”

 

Mycroft raised an eyebrow again and slanted his eyes, tilting his head to the side before pushing up from the floor. The blanket fell to the ground as he stood, and Greg watched appreciatively as he left the room. Licking his lips, Greg turned at the waist and leaned forward, reaching around and under the sofa until he located the small box he had stashed there earlier.  It was quickly stashed in his lap, under the blanket, just in time for Mycroft to walk back in with two mugs in his hands and a box tucked under his arm.

 

“What’s that?” Greg asked, blinking at the box. Mycroft just hummed and set the mugs down so he could sit safely.

 

“For you,” came his answer, holding out the box.

 

“Myc, Christmas isn’t for another week, what is this?” he laughed, baffled, taking the box and staring at it.

 

“I might ask the same for the one hidden under your blanket,” Mycroft smirked, eyes shining.

 

“You really let me believe you didn’t know, didn’t you? Thought I finally snuck one past you,” Greg sighed, shaking his head as he pulled the smaller box out from its hiding spot. “Okay, we’ll exchange this one early gift, drink our wine, and have a spectacular shag in front of the fire before we go to sleep.”

 

“Why Gregory, you are just full of amazing plans,” Mycroft smirked, sending a shiver down Greg’s spine.  Pride and love mixed with the hints of arousal as he handed his gift over, eager for the younger man to open it.


	350. Final Days of Vacation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I couldn't resist. Here's a continuation of yesterday. Presents revealed!

Stretched out on the floor, Greg propped his head up in one hand and gazed down at the opened gift in front of him with a smile. The smile was also due to the bloody amazing, slow, _intimate_ sex he and Mycroft had just had in front of the fire.  It was as close to body worship as two people could get, complete with aroused gasps and groans.  Every inch of him was buzzing in the aftermath of his orgasm, his skin glistening with hints of sweat from both their activities and the fire, and a blanket was half draped over his bottom half.

 

He glanced up as he heard footsteps, smiling as he watched his partner walking back into the room with two fresh mugs of mulled wine – still naked, much to Greg’s delight.  The look Mycroft gave him was a mixture of immense love and desire that had him biting his lip almost on instinct.

 

“I can’t believe you bought me the entire James Bond collection,” he commented as Mycroft sat back down next to him, tracing the edge of the dvd box he had been admiring.  Mycroft chuckled, tugging over some of the blanket to cover himself as well.  The movement revealed the bend of Greg’s hip, which Mycroft admired for a few moments before handing the drink over.

 

Greg pushed himself to sit properly as he took the drink, sighing as he breathed in its sweet, spiced scent. He nudged at Mycroft’s knee with his toe, grinning brightly and buzzing gleefully.

 

“Yes, well I figured we could have a bit of a marathon tomorrow, if you like,” Mycroft said with a shrug, sipping his drink. “Before we have to start getting ready to head back to London.”

 

Yes, tomorrow was their last full day here at the Holmes vacation home.  Greg couldn’t think of a better way to spend it all.  Tonight had been absolutely picturesque, and before their marathon he couldn’t deny the desire to get out in the snow for a bit.

 

“I still say you shouldn’t have, as far as my gift goes,” Mycroft spoke again after a moment.

 

“Oh please,” Greg said, waving his free hand gently. “You needed a new one anyway, so… Don’t worry, I didn’t just get you practical gifts.”

 

“Gregory,” Mycroft said, raising his eyebrows. “There’s more?”

 

“Don’t be daft, love, I wouldn’t just get you a decanter for Christmas…”

 

“A quite elegant decanter, don’t downplay it,” Mycroft said, glancing over at the crystal vessel, firelight bouncing off it and sparkling along the wall.  He reached over, slender fingers tracing the circumference of the lid reverently. “It’s beautiful.”

 

Greg blushed at the awe evident in Mycroft’s voice. He really hadn’t thought much about the decanter, honestly.  He knew Mycroft would appreciate it, sure, because he _did_ need a new one, but apparently he had done more than just got it on the money.

 

“Mycroft…” he started, setting his wine down.

 

His voice seemed to pull his partner from whatever distracted trance he had fallen into.  Blinking, the younger man turned to look at him. His face was still flush and his hair was a mess, with bright red love bites starting to glare off his pale skin, and he was breathtaking.  Smiling, Greg reached out and placed a hand against his chest.

 

“I’m glad you like it,” he whispered, rubbing soft skin and a dusting of hair with his thumb.  Mycroft reached up and took hold of Greg’s hand, squeezing it and pulling him in for a sweet kiss.

 

Greg hummed into it, shifting closer so he was half on Mycroft’s lap, wrapping his arms around his neck and hanging on securely. Their noses brushed together as they pulled away, both grinning happily.

 

“This has already been the best Christmas ever and it hasn’t even happened yet,” Greg grinned, playing with the hair settled on the back of Mycroft’s neck.  The younger man hummed.

 

“Yes, I certainly have to agree,” he smiled, kissing Greg’s forehead.

 

“I’m not ready to go back to London,” he admitted with a sigh, leaning forward and burrowing his head in Mycroft’s neck. Mycroft hugged him close, rubbing a hand up and down his back slowly.

 

“Neither am I,” Mycroft agreed with a sigh. “It will be good, though.  We would go mad before it was all over.”

 

“Perhaps,” Greg chuckled, nuzzling into Mycroft’s collarbone. “But for now just let me bask.”

 

“Bask away, my love,” Mycroft whispered, kissing into Greg’s hair and hugging him tightly.


	351. I Prefer Tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I also mentioned my insane love for coffee shoppe AUs, alongside beginnings? heh
> 
> teen AU

It was highly inconvenient for Mycroft Holmes that his little brother insisted on pastries from the nearby coffee shoppe instead of, perhaps, the actual bakery, or even the tea shoppe that also sold pastries. No, it _had_ to be the coffee shoppe.  With Sherlock, the older Holmes had learned very quickly that it was best not to argue about things as trivial as this.  Just deal with it and move on.  Pick your battles, one would say.  That still didn’t make this preference any less tedious.

 

“I would assume you to know and understand why, because I’m sure you cannot keep your fingers off them,” Sherlock argued one day.

 

“Sherlock, ignoring your jab at my physique and your constant insistence that I eat more than my fill, I have only ever bought the pastries for you,” Mycroft sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

“The pastry cream is never fresh at the tea shoppe and the dough at the bakery is too flowery.”  That was the boy’s response every time Mycroft tried to lead him in a different direction.  So, the teen picked his battles, brushed it aside, and went to the coffee shoppe.

 

It’s not that the coffee shoppe was a bad place. Far from it, in fact. It was a newer, well-kept building with a calming atmosphere and courteous workers.  The problem was in the fact that Mycroft tolerated coffee, at best. He had always preferred tea. Sure, that wasn’t much of an issue when he was just stopping in to buy a pastry and go home, but a majority of the time he also wanted to relax in one of the comfortable chairs and read or get some work done on his laptop.  After all, with a whirlwind for a little brother, he could hardly find the peace at home.

 

All of his annoyance at going there went away one quiet afternoon as he walked in and saw the boy tending the counter. His dark hair was a mess and his shirt had come untucked, he had flower on his face, and even more on his apron. Yet, when he turned and greeted Mycroft, he did it with the brightest smile the teen had ever seen. His brown eyes were warm and Mycroft found he had a hard time looking away from them.

 

“Afternoon!” the boy (though Mycroft estimated he was, in fact, older) said. “Sorry for the mess, lunch rush got a bit nuts. What can I get you?”

 

For the first time, Mycroft had found himself a bit speechless. He most certainly did not stutter and hesitate as he gave his order, however, and he definitely didn’t continue to stare at the boy long after he’d sat down in his usual chair.

 

His nametag said ‘Greg’.

 

Mycroft had never really been drawn to anyone before, so he started to surprise himself when he was actually looking forward to his visits to the shoppe.  After a few days of admiring from afar, Gregory began to actually talk to him. As it turned out, Mycroft was correct (not that he thought himself wrong) in Gregory being older than him. He was eighteen to Mycroft’s sixteen, and he was… fascinating.

 

As they became more comfortable with each other, Gregory began joining Mycroft on one of the sofas when the shoppe was void of all other customers.  They talked quite naturally, and Mycroft found himself unable to keep from laughing at Gregory’s jokes and stories no matter how absurd.  His visits became a bit more frequent, when his schedule would allow, and they also became longer.  He never pulled his book out anymore.

 

Gregory made him tea.

 

“I’ll get you drinking coffee one of these days, just you wait,” Gregory said one afternoon, one arm stretched across the back of the sofa.  Mycroft was hyperaware of how close the teen’s hand was to his shoulder, but he forced himself to ignore it as he hummed in response, sipping his tea.

 

“I doubt that,” he shot back, arching an eyebrow. “Instead, you should just admit defeat and actually put this on the menu.”

 

“Well, not my shoppe, so I really have no control over the menu,” Gregory laughed brightly.  Mycroft felt his chest tighten and his mouth twitched up in a smile.

 

“Indeed,” Mycroft acknowledged, leaning forward and setting his cup down on the small table in front of them. “Then it is to my benefit that you are so skilled in the brewing of tea as well as coffee.”

 

“My skills don’t stop there,” Gregory said, leaning a fraction closer.  Mycroft could almost feel the heat from this body, which sounded ridiculous, but… His heartbeat picked up a little as he watched, unable to keep his eyes from Gregory’s. “Hey, Myc…”

 

The older teen trailed off, suddenly looking a little unsure of himself.  Unfortunately, the chime of the door’s bell announced a new customer, and he had to quietly excuse himself to go take their order.  Mycroft let out a shaky breath when he was alone, and closed his eyes. He felt light-headed all of a sudden. Logically he should be irritated at the shortened nickname Gregory had begun using.  He hated when anyone else called him anything other than Mycroft. Yet, with him… it was different. Endearing.

 

What was Gregory so unsure of?  Mycroft was so good at reading people, yet he couldn’t get a grasp on the other teen.  He was full of confidence and spark, so Mycroft really had no clue where the hesitance was coming from.  He licked his lips, straightening as Gregory returned.

 

“Sorry,” he sighed, sitting back on the sofa. Mycroft shook his head.

 

“You are on duty, it is no trouble.”

 

“So anyway,” Gregory breathed. “I was wondering. Would you… At first I was gonna ask if you’d like to grab coffee but how lame is that, since I work with coffee and this is the only place we’ve ever hung out before.  So, ah, maybe.  If you’re hungry.  We could grab a bite after my shift?  Late lunch? Or we could do dinner if you’d prefer to wait, or… Or I could stop rambling like a sodding idiot.”

 

Mycroft stared.  He blinked.  Rapidly. He opened his mouth, paused, and closed it again.

 

“Are you… asking me out on a date?” he asked hesitantly, after a moment.  Gregory bit his bottom lip nervously an Mycroft’s gaze was drawn briefly to the motion.

 

“Yeah,” he nodded, letting out a breath. “Yeah, I am.”

 

“Dinner sounds… lovely,” Mycroft heard himself accepting. He had just accepted a date. A proper date. With Gregory.  Lovely, he wasn’t even _thinking_ in full sentences.  Something was clearly wrong with him.  However, the relief on the older teen’s face was infectious, and once again brightened up the room.

 

“Awesome, great,” Gregory breathed, shoulders slumping.

 

“Dinner is better than coffee, of course,” Mycroft commented as he picked up his drink again.  He smirked. “After all, we both know I prefer tea.”


	352. Wait For You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once before, earlier in the year, I wrote a drabble with Greg dealing with the news of his wife cheating, from the Christmas party in ASiB. The premise is the same here, but I went about it a completely different way. Because I love looking at scenes and scenarios from more than one. :3

Mycroft was sitting in front of the fire, staring at nothing in particular, and nursing a scotch when his mobile rang. Lifting his head, he picked it up and glanced at the caller ID.  He was unable to keep from rolling his eyes and sighing, before setting the drink down and answering.

 

“Oh dear lord,” he commented in exasperation into the mobile. “We’re not going to have Christmas phone calls now, are we? Have they passed a new law?”

 

“I think you’re going to find Irene Adler tonight,” came Sherlock’s voice on the other end.  It was as crisp and snappy as always, and yet he sounded.. off.

 

“We already know where she is,” Mycroft retorted. “As you were kind enough to point out, it hardly matters.”

 

“No, I mean you’re going to find her dead.”

 

Mycroft remained quiet, blinking as he glanced at the flames flickering in front of him.  He drew in a breath, surprised when Sherlock remained on the line as well. Normally his brother would go ahead and hang up on him.  That, combined with the distracted way his voice sounded, left Mycroft feeling a bit of concern.

 

“Are you all right?” he risked asking, sitting up a bit straighter in his chair and leaning forward.  There was a huff (most likely a snort of derision) in response.

 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Sherlock asked, his voice once again dripping with it’s normal amount of disdain.

 

“Indeed,” Mycroft agreed, humming. All these years and Sherlock still thought he could pull one over on him. 

 

“If you are looking for something constructive to do until she is found, you should track down Lestrade,” Sherlock said after another pause.  Mycroft blinked again.

 

“Is that so?” he asked. “Why, precisely, should I do that?”

 

“His wife is cheating on him again-”

 

“Yes, Sherlock, I am well aware,” Mycroft interrupted, pinching the bridge of his nose.  All he needed was more reminders of the bloody woman’s infidelity to make his mood even more wonderful.

 

“He knows,” Sherlock continued. “I told him tonight.”

 

 _Oh_.

 

“He remained quieter afterward, and while I did not see, I believe he just left.” There was a pause and a rustle that sounded like curtains. “Yes, he left.  Going the direction of the Yard, not home.  Thought you should know.”

 

_Oh..._

 

Mycroft opened his mouth to respond, but by that point Sherlock had already hung up.  Sighing, he fired off a text to Anthea about Irene Adler, wanting to get things started as far as that aspect of the night went.  Then, he sat there for a moment, thinking.  He wanted to find Gregory.  It wasn’t a good idea, though.

 

He continued to remind himself how bad of an idea it was even as he finished the scotch, stood up, and searched CCTV to locate the detective inspector.  He reinforced how bad an idea it was as he summoned his car and stepped out into the chilled evening.

 

He found Gregory at one of the only pubs open this time of night, a block down from Scotland Yard.  Mycroft paused outside the establishment, taking in the rather pitiful sight of people trying to drink away their holiday problems inside. He pressed his lips together, but forced himself through.  After all, Gregory was one of those people at the moment.

 

Mycroft spotted him in a small booth next to the bar, an untouched pint in front of him and his head in one hand, mobile in the other.  He felt a strange ache as he watched Gregory battle with himself, most likely trying to decide whether to text or ring his wife about the issue.  He only allowed himself a moment to observe this before closing the distance and sliding into the seat next to him.

 

“Oi, who- Mycroft?” Gregory asked as he looked up, eyes red and wide.  Mycroft tried not to let the sight outwardly affect him.

 

“Sherlock,” was all he said.  He watched Gregory’s shoulders slump a fraction. “I am sorry.”

 

“Of course you know,” Gregory muttered as he looked away, his voice fragile and bitter.

 

“Gregory…”

 

“Why?” the older man interrupted. Mycroft sat patiently. “What did I ever do?  She said things were working. I’m just so bloody tired, Mycroft. I’m tired of being unappreciated and I’m tired of getting pulled through this.  I’m done, I’m ending it.  I just… I want…”

 

The change in Gregory’s body language and the sudden softness and exhaustion in his voice set off an alarm in Mycroft’s head. He could tell where this conversation was headed and it made him start to regret their drunken confessions to each other a month back.  They were drawn to each other, but of course neither of them could do anything about it. Gregory was a married man. That was the end of it, and they both agreed.

 

Gregory looked over at him. Mycroft froze, and the older man shifted closer.  Pale eyes quickly scanned across his face, quickly deducing the man’s exact train of thought.

 

“Gregory, wait,” Mycroft blurted out, reaching out and pressing a hand gently against his chest. “You’ve been drinking. You are still married.”

 

_Champagne at Baker Street, two glasses.  Followed by a glass of wine, most likely consumed quickly in the aftermath of Sherlock’s “reveal”.  He had not touched his pint, but he’d taken a shot of something - most likely whiskey - before sitting down._

 

He knew Gregory could hold his alcohol, and the man was by no means drunk.  He would be tipsy at best.  Even still… Gregory’s eyes shined with tears that threatened to fall down his cheeks at any moment. Mycroft couldn’t breathe.

 

“Mycroft…” the man whispered, his voice shaking. One tear fell. Mycroft’s eyes softened and he sighed, reaching out to cup the man’s cheeks.

 

“Listen to me,” he whispered, feeling suddenly vulnerable and unable to keep the words from forming. “You have a decision to make. Gregory, I know very well how much you are wanting to kiss me right now, but you are married. I cannot let us do that. We have had this conversation before.”

 

He closed his eyes and sighed again, through his nose, and leaned in to press their foreheads together.  Even that simple action made Gregory’s breath hitch, and he was trembling under Mycroft’s touch.  Mycroft kept his eyes closed, needing to keep his resolve. If he looked at the man now, it might crumble.

 

“I am going to wait for you,” he whispered suddenly, not even sure where the confession came from himself.  It was foolish and he probably shouldn’t, but he couldn’t deny its accuracy. “If you decide to divorce her, we will revisit all of this. Until that time, our lips will not get any closer than this.  Okay?”

 

“O-okay,” Gregory sighed, pulling away to sit straight and rub at his face roughly.  He sighed, his whole chest heaving, and looked at Mycroft hesitantly. Then, he shifted a bit closer and leaned to press his cheek against Mycroft’s shoulder. “Can I just...stay for a moment?”

 

Mycroft closed his eyes and bit his lip, before caving in and sliding an arm around Gregory’s shoulders, very lightly settling into his silvery hair and stroking gently.

 

“Only for a moment,” he whispered, his voice gentle and the hint of a smile on his face.  Sherlock and Irene Adler could both wait. Seemed to be theme of the night, that. Waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so a quick thingie. I'm going out of town tomorrow for an early Christmas weekend with some family. I decided that having to play three or four days of catch up the week of Christmas was not going to be a fun thing, so instead! I wrote ahead of time. Since I can't really queue on here, I'm going to be posting multiple chapters tonight. So bonus there! They will be here to either binge read all at once, or read once a day like normal. :D


	353. Thought I Lost You

Greg could hardly breathe or focus as he practically ran down the streets of London, panic gripping his chest. It was pouring rain and he had forgotten to grab an umbrella (he was always forgetting, and Mycroft was always scolding him on it), so by this point he was soaked to the bone. He couldn’t feel his fingers and his mobile was surely too waterlogged to function anymore, but he didn’t care about any of that.

 

News of the plane going down had sent his world crashing with it.  It was Mycroft’s plane… The man was supposed to be returning from meetings in Mumbai, had given Greg his itinerary so they could arrange dinner when he landed, and… _Oh god._

 

Mycroft’s mobile went directly to voicemail. He’d tried calling Anthea immediately after.  No luck there either. He tried calling Mycroft’s office but couldn’t get through to anybody competent.  They refused to tell him anything, because the security there was ridiculous, but did they not know who he was?!  Christ.  Adrenaline and terror had propelled him then, causing his feet to move.  He barely remembered to grab his coat and keys. Autopilot had kicked in after that, which is why he even walked right past his car and just… moved.

 

He could hardly breathe, only managing shaky gasps as he turned corners.  It was only halfway there that he realized he was going to Mycroft’s flat.  Why?  Swallowing, he crossed his arms tightly around him as he began to shiver, feeling a panic attack coming on full force.  A small voice kept telling him that maybe it was all wrong, maybe Mycroft was home. Maybe he hadn’t even left the airport. Maybe he wasn’t on that plane…

 

 _Please_ let him have not been on that plane.

 

Greg honestly didn’t know what he would do with himself if Mycroft was dead.  The younger man had changed his entire life.  He’d never been so in love before.  If it was ripped away from him before they truly had the chance to live their lives together, he didn’t know if.... He didn’t think he’d be able to recover from that. He’d seen too many times where the loss of a loved one had turned people into shells of who they were before. He’d be lucky to be half as functional as some of them.

 

He bit his lip for the hundredth time that night, tasting a metallic tang that indicated he’d finally worried it down so much that it was bleeding.  With a trembling hand, he pushed water and hair off his forehead, blinking rapidly as his vision blurred from a mixture of tears and rain.  Finally, when Mycroft’s front door was in sight, he broke into a full run, barely able to keep himself from barrelling into it when he got there.

 

He knocked rapidly before fumbling for the keys that had been shoved in his pocket.  He had a spare to Mycroft’s on the ring somewhere… He cursed hoarsely as he dropped the keys on the ground, bending down to snatch them right as the door was opened in front of him. 

 

Everything stopped.  His breath hitched and he froze, fingers inches away from the keyring, staring at the pair of feet that had emerged.

 

“Gregory,” Mycroft sighed in relief, his voice urgent. “I tried calling you, is your mobile-”

 

The man wasn’t able to finish the sentence. Straightening, Greg propelled himself forward and crashed into Mycroft, not even caring that he was instantly getting his clothes wet.  He clutched at him desperately and buried his face in his neck, breathing his scent in deeply.  Mycroft’s arms were around him instantly, hugging him tight, and kisses were being pressed into his wet hair.

 

“I’m okay,” Mycroft was whispering. “It’s okay.”

 

“Mycroft,” he gasped, his voice strained. “I thought you…”

 

“Ssshh, come inside, you’re completely soaked,” Mycroft continued to whisper, stroking the back of his neck in attempt to soothe him. “Come on, Gregory.”

 

It took some slow coaxing, but Greg was led inside. The rain that had been roaring in his ears faded until it was muffled, and the sudden change in temperature caused the chill to really settle into his bones and make him shake almost violently. Mycroft said nothing until he had been taken into the sitting room, undressed down to his pants, and a thick blanket wrapped around him.  He was pulled over to the sofa, a fire nearby, and drawn immediately back into Mycroft’s arms.

 

“I took an earlier plane back,” Mycroft started to explain as Greg looked at him, a mixture of relief and pain on his face. He leaned into the touch as Mycroft cupped his cheek. “I hadn’t been able to notify you ahead of time, and when I heard about the plane going down… I tried calling you multiple times but it never rang.”

 

“Mobile’s probably dead,” he managed to say. “The rain and all.”

 

“That’s what happens when you leave the house without an umbrella,” Mycroft scolded softly.  The tone of his voice matched the small smile on his face, giving away the teasing nature to the comment.  Laughter managed to bubble out of Greg, but his heart was still racing. He clutched at his partner tightly.

 

“I don’t know what I would have done,” he said, huffing and whimpering involuntarily. “If you had…”

 

“Luckily, you need not think on it,” Mycroft interrupted gently. “I am sorry, Gregory.  Forgive me for not being able to let you know of the change. I could have spared you all of this pain.”

 

Greg shook his head.

 

“You’re here now,” was all he said, as he fell into Mycroft’s body and kissed him deeply, grasping for the reassurance his mind could wrap around.


	354. Locked In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whistles innocently over the nsfw ahead*

“Sergeant Donovan?” Mycroft asked as he strode into the Yard, noticing  Gregory’s office being empty.  The woman glanced up from her paperwork and regarded him for a moment.

 

“Yes, Mr Holmes?” she asked, standing.

 

“Where is the Detective Inspector?”

 

“Down the hall,” Sally answered with a smirk. “Supply room, I think.  You don’t have to be so formal about him, you know.  Not with me, anyway.”

 

“Mmm, I’m afraid I do, actually,” Mycroft commented with a slight smile that didn’t reach his eyes.  Even though they were partners, Mycroft would remain professional in a professional setting.  There was no reason to be otherwise. “Thank you.”

 

Sally nodded at him and turned back to her paperwork. Mycroft headed in the direction that she had gestured, ignoring the few curious looks he received by the less seasoned officers at their desks.  He ignored them all as he approached an open door, mouth quirking up in a bit of a smile as he was greeted with a very flattering view of Gregory’s backside. A quick sweep of the door revealed that it was propped open with a wooden doorstop, the inside handle clearly not functioning properly.  The light also seemed to be out, the older man searching by the lights of the main office.

 

 

Mycroft paused, glancing around to make sure no one was paying particular attention to him.  Then, he announced his presence with a soft clearing of his throat and toed the doorstop free as he stepped into the closet.

 

“Mycroft?” Gregory asked in surprise as he straightened and glanced over his shoulder.  His eyes widened as he realized the door was shutting, and he spun to try and reach out to stop it.  He was, of course, too late, and the door shut with a click.  They were shrouded in darkness immediately.

 

“Good afternoon, Gregory,” Mycroft said in a soft voice, eyes already adjusting to the dark room.

 

“You realize we’re locked in here now, right?” Gregory asked with a slight huff. “Door’s broken, not getting repaired until next week.”

 

“Oh dear me,” Mycroft replied, voice barely hiding his amusement.

 

“Let me text Sally,” Gregory mumbled, pulling out his mobile.  The screen lit up the small room for a moment, but Mycroft reached out and grabbed the device before the older man could open his texts.  There was a surprised noise of protest that was quickly muffled as Mycroft crashed their mouths together in a rough kiss.  He dropped his partner’s mobile in his pocket, both hands going to Gregory’s waist immediately after and gripping securely.  Gregory gasped into the kiss, clutching the front of of his jacket tightly.

 

“Mycroft,” he groaned, head falling back as Mycroft tilted his head to begin kissing along his jaw and neck. “What are-”

 

“I can’t concentrate,” Mycroft muttered against his skin, before sucking against his pulse point and causing Gregory to arch against him slightly. “All morning I’ve been distracted, been wanting… It’s unbearable.”

 

“Yeah?” Greg asked, gritting his teeth and tugging Mycroft even closer.  Their bodies pressed together, both of them evidently hard.  They moved until Gregory’s back was pressed up against the wall, and slender hands made quick work of the button and zip of his trousers.

 

Greg gasped, barely biting back a moan as Mycroft wrapped his fingers around his erection.  Arms wrapped around Mycroft’s shoulders, the older man bucking up into the touch slightly.  Letting out a shudder, Mycroft pushed the collar of his partner’s dress shirt aside with his nose so he could bite down on his collarbone just enough to leave behind a bright red mark.

 

“ _Oh god_ ,” Gregory whimpered.

 

Mycroft lifted his head to pull Gregory into another rough kiss.  He stroked the man’s length, sure and slow, rubbing the pad of his thumb against the head. Already moistened with precum, the slickness caused Gregory to stiffen and groan into the kiss. Mycroft turned his wrist in the ways he knew Gregory loved best, causing the older man’s knees to tremble with pleasure and making his grasp even more at his suit jacket.

 

“I’m…” Gregory gasped after a few moments, his head thumping lightly against the wall.  Mycroft was grateful to be fully adjusted to the darkness so he could see the way his lips were parted as he gasped, endeavoring to be as quiet as possible. It made his own erection throb even more, craving relief.

 

Soon enough.  Mycroft was too focused on bringing his partner to climax currently. Still working the length in his hand, he let go of Gregory’s hip to reach in his pocket and pull out an extra handkerchief.    Tilting his hips, he brought the cloth between them, cupping it around and under Gregory’s cock just in time as the man stifled his cries, freezing as he came.

 

Mycroft stroked Gregory through his orgasm, slowing his movements gradually, until he was slumped against the wall, panting.

 

“You mad bastard,” Gregory gasped, grinning brightly. Mycroft chuckled as he folded the handkerchief over and cleaned off his hand.  He checked their clothing, but neither of them got any mess. Just as planned. Glancing up, he blinked, his mind narrowing down on his own arousal with the look he could see Gregory giving him.

 

“Time to return the favor,” the older man said huskily, dropping to his knees and tugging Mycroft’s trousers open.


	355. Only The Best

Greg was leaning against his desk, staring blankly at his laptop when there was motion at the doorway to his office. A soft knock sounded and he looked up, smiling.

 

“Hey John,” he greeted, standing out of habit. John Watson tilted his head in greeting and stepped over the threshold, his left hand flexing briefly.

 

“Hey Greg,” he smiled. “This a bad time?”

 

“Nah, not at all,” Greg shook his head, gesturing to one of the chairs on the opposite side of his desk.  He sat back down and turned to sit straight, facing his friend. “What can I do for you?  No Sherlock today, I see?”

 

“Yeah,” John nodded, smiling. “It’s about him, actually. Do you… You don’t happen to have any cold cases lying around that he hasn’t seen before, do you?”

 

“I’ll have to look, I might,” Greg said, raising his eyebrows. “What, is he driving you mad?”

 

“No,” John laughed.  He crossed his ankles and leaned back a bit more comfortably in the chair. “I was hoping to give him some for Christmas to mess around with for a few days.”

 

“Oh!” Greg exclaimed, blinking.  That was a pretty good idea.  Only Sherlock Holmes would find old cases a gift, but then again, John just knew him.  Sounded perfect, actually. He pointedly tried to ignore the situation he was in where he hadn’t quite been able to nail down what to get his own partner for Christmas… Mycroft was harder to shop for than he expected.

 

“Yeah,” John smiled. “So you have a bit still, I don’t need them right off.  Gonna get him a new bunsen burner too.  He insists his is fine, but only because he’s too stubborn to go out and buy a new one. He won’t stop cursing at the damn thing.”

 

“Sounds like you’ve got it all sorted, then,” Greg said, taking a drink from his almost-forgotten coffee mug.  It wasn’t cold yet, thankfully. “Envy you there.”

 

“Having trouble with Mycroft?” John asked. Greg hummed.

 

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Nothing I think of seems _right_.  It all feels stupid or unnecessary or something he would probably hate.  It’s our first Christmas together, I want to get him something really good.”

 

“Just don’t overthink it,” John shrugged. “That’s what it sounds like you’re doing.  If you stop overthinking it, that’s when it’ll come to you.”

 

Greg nodded slightly.  Maybe John was right.  Maybe he was overthinking things.  In reality, there was a good chance that Mycroft would like anything he got for him, so his fears were a bit unfounded.  But like he’d said, it WAS their first Christmas together. For some reason, that put a slight pressure on him to get something really good.  He put the thought aside for now as he and John chatted a bit, planning a pub night in a few days.  Greg would bring some case files for him then.

 

He turned back to his computer again once John had left, bringing up the search bar he’d practically glared holes through earlier. He’d started out pouring over things like tie clips and briefcases, both of which he’d remembered Mycroft remarking on the need for a new one somewhat recently.  He had either hated or just simply rejected everything he’d found. They were either too plain and dumb, or too expensive, or weird styles that just didn’t seem to fit the younger man very well.

 

 

Randomly, he started to look up wine racks. He came across one shaped like a moose that he found hilarious, and was so tempted to get it, but wondered if Mycroft would find it so funny.  Yeah, that was probably dumb.  So he kept searching, resting his head in his hand as he scrolled.

 

His mind wandered to other ideas as he scanned through the images, trying to find something Mycroft might like. He was quite the wine drinker, sure, but some of the floor to ceiling ones he was coming across were a bit… much. Yeah, definitely overkill. A wine rack might be good, but what else?  He couldn’t _just_ get Mycroft a wine rack.  He didn’t want to, anyway. 

 

Inspiration struck right as he came across a rack that felt perfect.  Greg found it interesting that everything seemed to click all at once, but he wasn’t going to complain. He’d been at this for weeks, looking at things and tossing them aside and getting bloody annoyed by it. But now… it felt right.

 

He didn’t hesitate to buy the wine rack immediately. It held sixteen bottles and had a spot at the top for two glasses.  It was a dark wood, slightly curved, and running up both sides were full sets of piano keys. It was simple, but elegantly-designed, with just the right amount of character to make it stand out nicely. With that out of the way, he began working on the other idea.

 

At first building a custom umbrella with a sword hidden in the handle seemed a bit silly.  It was very James Bond, which was a remark that Mycroft always rolled his eyes over, insisting he was the furthest thing from any kind of spy. Even still, putting it together was a blast, and Greg couldn’t help but start to get excited.

 

All of that paled in comparison to watching Mycroft actually open it.  Appreciation and curiosity came first, and when the younger man discovered the hidden sword? The way he broke out into a wide grin, pale eyes shining, and the bright laughter that followed, made Greg realize he had done damn good.


	356. Double Date

_Sally just told me, I assume you know already?  -G_

_Naturally. I have to admit I was surprised Anthea made the emotional connection, let alone actually act upon it. –MH_

_I think it’s awesome.  Sally’s eye got caught quite a while ago.  –G_

_Hey, why don’t we do a double date?  -G_

_Really, Gregory? -MH_

_Yeah, why not??? I think it would be great!! -G_

_I suppose so. –MH_

_You know so. So, do we wanna set up dinner somewhere? -G_

_I will book a reservation.  –MH_

Sally had practically gawked when Greg filled her in on the plan, which had been insanely hilarious.  He hadn’t been all that surprised that Mycroft agreed to the double date, but then again, he did know the politician better than anyone. So with a date and time set, and the reservation in place, Greg climbed into the black car that had pulled up to his flat.

 

Both Mycroft and Anthea were in the car already, which he had expected.  They would then pick up Sally and on they would go.

 

“Good evening, Inspector,” Anthea greeted, eyes flicking up from her Blackberry briefly.  As he settled in next to Mycroft, a slender hand reached over and squeezed his knee affectionately.

 

“Evening,” he nodded in return, smiling. “But if you’re dating my Sergeant now, along with our pretty long connection through Mycroft, haven’t we graduated to just Greg yet?”

 

“Perhaps,” Anthea hummed, smirking slightly. Beside him, Mycroft chuckled.

 

When Sally climbed in, she looked both incredibly gorgeous and insanely nervous.  Greg offered her a big grin and a small tilt of his head that easily asked ‘All right?’. She managed a smile and nodded in return.  They rode in silence the rest of the way to the restaurant (which, granted, was _mostly_ comfortable), and as they climbed out Mycroft gestured them all forward.

 

“To beginnings,” Greg announced, raising up a freshly poured glass of wine once they were all settled in.

 

“You’re ridiculous, boss,” Sally said, rolling her eyes even as she was grinning.  Regardless, they all raised their glasses and toasted.

 

“So, Sergeant Donovan, Gregory tells me this has been a long time coming?” Mycroft asked after a moment, smiling gently.

 

“Sally, please,” she responded, waving a hand slightly. “And well… yeah, I guess so.  I dunno. It’s a bit embarrassing, if I’m being honest, Mr. Holmes.”

 

“If I am to call you Sally than you may call me Mycroft,” the younger man responded, setting down his wine glass. “Anthea has been in my employment for a long time, so we are quite comfortable with one another. That embarrassment will go away in time, I assure you.”

 

Greg didn’t miss the movement as Anthea reached over under the table, presumably to squeeze Sally’s leg gently in support. The two of them exchanged a brief glance, and Greg saw the first completely genuine smile form on Anthea’s face. He tried his hardest not to stare, but it was quite the sight.  Thankfully, neither woman seemed to notice.

 

They all shared an appetizer, had individual entrees, and then split desserts between the two couples.  Well, Greg tried to split one with Mycroft. He coaxed a few bites of the treat into Mycroft’s mouth before the man waved them away, which he’d accept as a small victory.  Sally and Anthea consumed their own dessert quickly, both of them competing for the last bite. It was a playful thing, the two of them giggling and elbowing each other in attempt to get the next spoonful.

 

Conversation had come easily after everyone’s second glass of wine.  The strange tension and awkwardness that had started the evening fell away as Sally got used to all of her company, and Greg was ecstatic.  It had all gone so much better than he had originally thought when he’d proposed the idea.

 

As they got into the car afterward, the two of them were even holding hands.  Greg had been curious when he’d first heard of the two of them actually dating, but now it all made sense.  They were very obviously smitten with each other.  Ever since they had sat down, Anthea’s Blackberry had been in her purse and her attention was on Sally the rest of the night.  He’d never seen his Sergeant so happy.  It made him strangely proud.

 

As they pulled up in front of Sally’s flat, Anthea got out of the car with her.  Greg glanced out, seeing them talking softly and leaning close.

 

“They’re gonna kiss,” he whispered, biting his lip and grinning.

 

“Then perhaps you should give them privacy,” Mycroft commented, amused.

 

“I’m just… I’m so happy for Sal, Mycroft. She deserves this.”

 

“As does Anthea,” Mycroft nodded. He wrapped an arm around Greg’s shoulders and brought him close, pulling his attention over.

 

“They’re so cute together,” Greg whispered, grinning up at Mycroft.

 

“Yes, they sure are.”

 

“Dinner was lovely, thank you for setting up the reservation.”

 

“Of course,” Mycroft whispered, placing a finger under Greg’s chin and tilting his face up for a slow kiss.  Right outside, Anthea and Sally were sharing the same intimate, brief gesture.


	357. Irresistible Lazy Sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally nsfw. Like whoa. Also inspired by this drool worthy piece of fanfiction that clarice82 posted on Tumblr today: http://clarice82art.tumblr.com/post/105966917085/mycroft-holmes-sexy-sheet-dreams
> 
> Yes.

“Mycroft?” Greg called out as he got home. The younger man was clearly already there, his coat hung up in its normal place on the rack, but as Greg had wandered into the kitchen and peeked his head in the sitting room, there was no sign of him.

 

There was no response either.  Humming curiously, Greg checked the bathroom and Mycroft’s study. The bathroom had been a bit of a long shot (though Mycroft did occasionally enjoy a long bath when he had the time), but Greg had been incredibly surprised when he hadn’t found him in his study. That room and the kitchen were always the most likely places to find Mycroft.

 

“Myc, are you ho-” he started to call out again as he made his way to their bedroom, stopping short as he walked in. The suit he’d watched Mycroft put on that morning was hung up on the door of their closet, and at his feet were socks and pants.  Stretched out in bed, half covered by a white bed sheet, was a very nude Mycroft Holmes.

 

Not only that, but he was fast asleep. Greg stared, smiling softly. Lying on his stomach, Mycroft had one arm curled up under his head and pillow, hugging it to him securely, with his other hand nestled right under his cheek.  His lips were parted just slightly, his breath coming out in even huffs that showed he was completely undisturbed by Greg’s voice as he’d been calling just moments ago.

 

As lovely as all of that was, however, it was the positioning of the bed sheet wrapped around Mycroft’s body that had halted Greg in his tracks.  The sheet was wrapped around his legs, tucked under his feet securely.  He was lying on the majority of it, with a piece draped back across one shoulder.  The entirety of his back was uncovered, as well as his arse, which had the sheet settled right underneath it. 

 

The older man stood there and bit his bottom lip gently. It was no secret that Greg _loved_ Mycroft’s arse. He also adored the heavy dusting of freckles that covered his body, which were all showing in this current position. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, running a hand through his hair, and contemplated.

 

He supposed he could just leave Mycroft to sleep. He could turn on the telly and make some tea.  But there was something incredibly inviting about this as well.  Something he found he couldn’t ignore.  He wasn’t ashamed to acknowledge the growing tightness in his trousers already, sometimes still baffled by how easily and quickly his partner’s body affected him. The politician would never truly know how irresistible he was.  It was, however, Greg’s mission in life to show him as best he could.

 

Toeing off his shoes, Greg tugged off his button up shirt and undershirt, quietly undoing his belt as he padded across the room. As he approached the bed he stopped and dropped the trousers, stepping out of them and slowly climbing onto the bed in just his pants.  He moved across on his knees until he was practically straddling Mycroft, just without lowering any of his weight on him.  Then, taking a slow breath, he leaned over and placed his hands flat on the mattress, nuzzling against Mycroft’s shoulder blade and kissing the warm skin there softly.

 

There was a brief stir, followed by a soft inhale. It could possibly signify Mycroft waking a bit, but not always.  Mindful of the shifts in Mycroft’s body, Greg continued to kiss, moving across his upper back and briefly licking at some of his freckles as he moved. Then, as he shifted down further, moving along his partner’s lower back, a soft sigh sounded in the room.

 

“Mmm…” Mycroft grunted sleepily, and Greg couldn’t help but chuckle.  He lifted his head briefly to see Mycroft’s eyes flutter open a bit, consciousness beginning to take hold, before moving back down and continuing.

 

His heart was pounding in his chest by the time he reached the swell of Mycroft’s backside.  He ran his nose along the dip in the small of his back, trying momentarily to ignore how hard he was at this point.  Mycroft shifted just a bit, moving a bit more onto his stomach than he was previously, and Greg grinned.  That was definitely a conscious decision, and one he couldn’t ignore.

 

Settling between Mycroft’s slightly parted legs, Greg brought his hands up to massage his cheeks a bit.  This earned another content sigh, though this one was a bit more solid than the other.  It was when Greg moved down and let his tongue run along the edge of his crack that Mycroft tensed and sucked in a breath.

 

“Gregory…” Mycroft muttered, voice rough with sleep.

 

“Afternoon,” he whispered, nipping at Mycroft’s cheek gently.  It drew the smallest of whimpers from Mycroft, so after a second he did it again so he could hear the noise again.  Mycroft’s hips shifted, turning ever so slightly, and Greg took the opportunity to slip a hand under and brush his fingers along the man’s incredibly hard cock. So, his voice was rough from more than just sleep, it seemed.

 

“Keep going,” Mycroft requested (the man would vehemently deny the use of the word ‘pleading’).

 

Greg complied, biting and licking and teasing his entrance as much as he could, until Mycroft was whimpering even more and practically pressing back against his face.  He wrapped his fingers around Mycroft’s erection and tugged as best he could, almost groaning as he began rocking into the mattress to try and create friction. Greg did his best to stop himself from doing the same thing.

 

“More, Gregory, please,” Mycroft growling, panting, fully awake now. “I want to feel you.”

 

Greg bit his lip, forcing himself to remain in control as he pressed two fingers inside of Mycroft (after the younger man fumbled to get their bottle of lube out, of course).  Mycroft was already rocking his hips in a lazy, slow motion, and as Greg hit his prostate and had him crying out softly, it didn’t take any time at all before he was lubed up and pressing in.  He gripped Mycroft’s hips securely; shuddering at the way the younger man groaned at the feeling he had wanted so desperately.  When he began to move, it was also slow and lazy, taking the time to enjoy every bit of it and draw out their orgasms for as long as possible.


	358. Papa Kissed Santa Claus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SpinnerOfSpiels requested this prompt a little ways back, so here we are!! :D

Greg could never say what quite compelled him to do this.  It’s not like it was going to make much of a difference.  His son, Oliver, was fast asleep, and he was never a kid that woke up a lot during the night and wandered around.  Even still, it was Christmas Eve and the outfit was in the closet, so… Why not?

 

Adjusting the floppy red hat on his head, he wandered through the sitting room and worked on setting out the last of the presents he and Mycroft had been buying over the past month. He crouched down, pushing wrapped presents under the tree more and arranging some of the unwrapped ones. It had been an amusing conversation, explaining to Mycroft the thought behind keeping things unwrapped and out in the open.  The mystery of Santa had been attempted in the Holmes household, apparently, but with him and Sherlock it wasn’t something that lasted long.

 

There was a soft chuckle from behind him, and Greg grinned as he glanced over his shoulder.  Mycroft had entered the room, arms crossed loosely over his chest and head tilted to the side.  Pale eyes ran over his form, taking in the sight before him.

 

“Taking it all the way aren’t you?” he asked, walking closer.  Greg stood, setting down the stuffed dragon he’d been messing with.

 

“How do I look?” he asked, throwing his arms out and wiggling slightly.

 

“Very red,” Mycroft laughed.  Greg glanced down at the bright red, fuzzy Santa suit he was wearing and shrugged.

 

“Tis the season,” he joked, adjusting the fake beard hanging loosely on his face and walking over. “You like it?”

 

“Mmm, I wouldn’t go that far, Gregory,” Mycroft said, rolling his eyes.

 

“Nah, you totally like it.”

 

Walking over, Greg wrapped his arms around his husband’s waist and grinned up at him.  Mycroft gazed back affectionately, placing a hand on his chest and stroking the soft material gently.

 

“I suppose it does have a certain charm to it,” Mycroft admitted with a grin. “Though I believe it’s more the power of the individual wearing it that does it for me.”

 

“Oh, do I do it for you?” Greg asked, his own grin widening.  He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and Mycroft rolled his eyes in return.

 

“I won’t even need to dignify that with an answer,” Mycroft said, tilting his chin up and sniffing.  Greg laughed and wrapped a gloved hand around the back of his head to pull him in for a kiss.

 

“Now where are my milk and cookies?” Greg whispered playfully against Mycroft’s lips as they ended the kiss to breathe. Mycroft gave him a pointed look.

 

“Kissing you in that contraption of a fake beard is rather… interesting,” the younger man commented instead, plucking at the slightly wiry white strands of fake hair hanging off Greg’s chin.

 

“Shall I keep it on when we go to bed tonight?” Greg asked playfully, nudging Mycroft’s chest.

 

“Oh dear lord, don’t even think about it,” Mycroft said, stepping away. “You’ll put yourself on that so-called Naughty List if you keep all this up.”

 

“Totally worth it,” Greg laughed as he turned and crouched back down in front of the tree.  Mycroft just shook his head and went to the kitchen to make them some tea.

 

*

 

The following morning was a flurry of excitement and laughter.  Greg loved that most about Christmas morning; it was having a kid that truly made it magical. Oliver was in awe of the display, and both he and Mycroft lounged back on the sofa and let their son have at it.

 

“See?” Greg whispered, raising his eyebrows as he watched Mycroft watch Oliver running around the tree with the stuffed dragon in his hands, babbling away in what was not all entirely English. Mycroft just nodded at the unspoken part of that sentence.  _See why all of that was necessary?_

 

“Papa!” Oliver shouted as he made his way over to them. Mycroft sat up a little straighter and smiled. “Look!”

 

He handed over the dragon, Greg relieving Mycroft of his tea while he examined it and complimented it dutifully. When Oliver seemed satisfied, he took it back and carried it over to give it a comfortable place to sit. Then, he came back over to the sofa and tapped Greg’s knee.

 

“What’s up Ollie?” he asked leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

 

“I saw Papa,” Oliver started. “Saw him _kissing_ Santa Claus.”

 

The boy whispered the last part, widening his eyes for extra effect.  Greg did his best not to either gape or bust out laughing.  He feigned surprise the best he could, but Oliver seemed satisfied, eager to go back over to all his new toys.  Greg covered his mouth with a hand, his body vibrating with silent laughter. As he turned to look at Mycroft, he almost lost it again.  His husband looked absolutely mortified.

 

“I’m glad you find it funny,” Mycroft muttered, hiding behind his tea. “I have no idea how we’re going to explain that one.”

 

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Greg chuckled, biting his lip to keep quiet. “I’m sure he’ll forget.”

 

“Mmmm.”

 

“Oh come on, you have to admit it was funny,” Greg said after a moment, once he’d calmed himself.  Mycroft snorted.

 

“I suppose.”

 

“That’s the Christmas spirit,” Greg winked, leaning in and kissing him on the cheek.


	359. Happy Christmas

When Greg had invited Sherlock and John over to his and Mycroft’s for Christmas, he hardly expected them to take up on the invitation.  Or, specifically, he didn’t expect Sherlock would take them up on the invitation. He knew John would be up for it, and would likely try to convince Sherlock for them to take up on it, but he hadn’t expected much.

 

So that morning, when Sherlock and John were at the doorstep, Greg’s jaw almost hit the floor.  He beamed and ushered them in, John pulling him in for a one-armed hug as Sherlock stood there without even pretending to be excited. That was okay, though. The fact that he was actually there was good enough.

 

“Happy Christmas!” he grinned, waving them in. “Myc just put together some bloody marys for us, if you’d like one. There’s also mulled wine, regular wine, and tea of course.  We’ve got a variety of foodstuffs too, so please help yourselves.

 

“You’re trying too hard, Lestrade,” Sherlock muttered as he set down a violin case and take his coat off.  Greg blinked; he brought his violin?

 

“Hush,” John hissed, glaring at the consulting detective as he pulled his coat off as well.  Greg chuckled.

 

“Like he could offend me,” he said, shaking his head and turning to head towards the kitchen.

 

“Where should I take presents?” John asked from behind him.

 

“Sitting room is fine, but you really didn’t need to,” Greg called out, smiling as he approached Mycroft. “They actually came.”

 

“Yes, I suspected Doctor Watson would have success coercing Sherlock to make the visit,” Mycroft smirked, wrapping his arms around Greg and kissing him gently. “I would not have allowed you to prepare so much food otherwise.”

 

“Oh really?” Greg smirked, rubbing their noses together. “Now, I happen to recall you requesting a few of those dishes specifically…”

 

“Mmm, that’s completely off topic.”

 

“No it’s not.”

 

“Ugh, if I have to be subjected to this all day, I will leave with or without John,” came Sherlock’s voice, dripping with disgust.

 

“No need to be so dramatic, brother mine,” Mycroft commented, giving Greg one final kiss on the forehead and stepping back to regard the younger Holmes.  Greg ran a hand through his hair and grinned over his shoulder.

 

“Drink?” he asked in offer, turning.

 

“I suppose since they are already being done, I would not say no to a bloody mary,” Sherlock mumbled.

 

“On it,” he responded, gently ushering Mycroft aside so he could mix the drink.

 

They all settled in the sitting room, talking about the most random of things over their drinks.  Sherlock didn’t do much talking, but when he did, he actually seemed to hold fascinating conversations with Mycroft.  It was an amazing experience to see them do something other than fight.  Greg and John were both entranced by it.

 

After some more drinking and some food, John began coaxing Sherlock to get his violin out.  The man was refusing, of course, but Greg could tell that in the end it was something John would win.

 

“Come on, you actually brought it, put it to good use!” John was saying, elbowing his partner.  Sherlock glared and huffed, but finally started to pull away from John and set down his glass.

 

“ _Fine_ ,” he snapped, looking comically put out as he walked over to where he had propped the case up against an empty chair.  Greg turned to Mycroft, who had a soft, surprised expression on his face. It was full of a fond affection that had Greg holding his breath.

 

Closing his eyes, Sherlock brought the violin and bow up to their proper positions and took a moment to let a few random notes ring out.  He leaned slightly as he started to play.  It only took a few notes before Greg recognized the song – White Christmas.  He smiled.

 

His smile began to grow even more when he watched Mycroft slowly get up from his chair and walk over to the other side of the sitting room, where his piano was placed.  John blinked, staring with wide eyes as the older Holmes sat down and ran the pads of his fingers quietly across the ivory keys.  Then, when Sherlock got to a good point, Mycroft joined in and began playing as well.

 

Sherlock cracked his eyes open to stare over at his brother without even pausing in the music.  His expression was unreadable, and after a moment he closed his eyes again. Greg’s heart was pounding harder than he had planned; this was a beautiful moment of harmony between the Holmes brothers, with amazing music resonating in the room, and it took his breath away.

 

“-Dreaming, of a white Christmas,” he sang softly as the next verse began, biting his lip. “With every Christmas card I write. May your days be merry, and bright.”

 

“And may all your Christmases be white,” John joined in, leaning back and crossing his legs with a big grin on his face as well.

 

“Something upbeat now!” John said once the song had finished.  Sherlock blinked, rolling his eyes affectionately.

 

“Sherlock?” Mycroft prompted, shifting on the piano bench a bit. 

 

“Very well,” Sherlock agreed, repositioning his fingers and beginning to play again.  Mycroft joined in instantly.

 

“Just hear those sleigh bells jingling, ring-ting-tingling too…” Greg and John began singing enthusiastically.


	360. Boxing Day Fun

Greg was stretched across the sofa, decked out in his normal football gear, half asleep as he enjoyed a lazy day full of sports. It was one of the best things about Boxing Day; game after game to enjoy while vegging out on leftovers. There wasn’t much left, of course, but it was enough to tide him over until dinner later.  The only thing missing was…

 

“Gregory, are you asleep?” Mycroft called. Speak of the devil. Yawning, Greg pushed himself up into a sitting position.

 

“Nah, right here,” he waved, barely biting back another yawn as he rubbed at his eyes and smiled.  Mycroft shook his head.

 

“Make some room,” the younger man requested with a gentle smile.

 

“What’s in that basket?” Greg asked as he moved to curl his legs up under him.

 

“I’ll show you.”

 

 Once Greg had readjusted himself, Mycroft sat down and handed the basket over. Blinking, the older man stared at the brightly colored assortment of Christmas crackers held within. Setting the basket down, he picked up a shiny red one and turned it over in his hands.

 

“Crackers?” he asked, blinking.

 

“Well, I know the children had free reign over them all yesterday, and deny it all you like, but I know part of you was a bit disappointed about it,” Mycroft explained, eyes shining.

 

“Look how clever you think you are,” Greg joked, nudging the man gently.

 

“I don’t _think_ I’m clever, I know I am,” Mycroft commented, smirking as he reached over to pick up a gold cracker.

 

“You first,” Greg prompted.

 

Mycroft glanced at it for a moment before taking hold of the ends securely and tugging.  There was a loud pop, and Greg couldn’t hold back his laughter as Mycroft jumped. A paper hat fell out onto his lap, wrapped around a smaller white paper that was Greg’s _favorite_ part.

 

“You gotta read it,” Greg said, picking up the crown and unfolding it.  He handed the white paper back over and carefully plopped the crown onto Mycroft’s head, his tongue poking out slightly.

 

“I really don’t want to,” Mycroft groaned as he read what was on the paper.  He sighed and leaned back against the sofa, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s awful.”

 

“That’s the point,” Greg laughed. “Read it!!”

 

“What did Santa say to the smoker?” Mycroft asked, his voice deadpanned.

 

“What did he say?” Greg asked back, leaning forward and bouncing gently.  Mycroft sighed.

 

“Please don’t smoke, it’s bad for my elf.”

 

Greg bust into a flurry of giggles, causing Mycroft to groan again.  Shaking his head, the younger man tossed the paper aside and crossed his arms, glaring.

 

“It was awful, stop laughing,” he demanded. Greg covered his mouth, biting his lip as he continued to giggle.

 

“It was awesome,” Greg said, grinning as he picked his red cracker again.

 

This time, Mycroft was ready, so when the pop sounded he didn’t jump like he did previously.  His partner did reach over to snatch up the paper hat that fell out and playfully shove it onto Greg’s head, causing them both to fall over slightly. There was pushing and laughing and a bit of kissing before they got upright again.  Greg unfolded his paper and cleared his throat dramatically, before snorting.

 

“Oh this is great,” he smirked. Mycroft’s eyes slanted. “What’s the best Christmas present in the world?”

 

He waited, grinning, as Mycroft just stared at him. Raising his eyebrows, he nudged Mycroft constantly until the man groaned and batted him away.

 

“Fine fine, what?” he conceded.

 

“A broken drum,” Greg announced, grinning even wider. “You just can’t beat it!!”

 

“Oh dear lord,” Mycroft groaned, rubbing his face roughly. “I take it back, this was a poor idea.  Give them back.”

 

“Noooo Myc, come on, let’s do a few more!” Greg pleaded.

 

“We’re already wearing our hats,” Mycroft said, as if that was a valid argument.

 

“Then we’ll have more for later. Come on, at least one more? Please?”

 

“Fine…” Mycroft sighed, shaking his head, but Greg saw the slightest of grins creeping in.

 

“Why is it getting harder to buy Advent calendars?” Greg read off, stretching his legs across Mycroft’s lap and humming happily as the younger man began to rub his ankle gently.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because their days are numbered!”

 

“I’m never buying another Christmas cracker ever again.”


	361. Leaving Their Date

“I trust the sirloin is to your liking?” Mycroft asked softly, smiling as he cut into his chicken.

 

“Lord yes,” Greg practically groaned. “It’s the best I’ve ever had.  I mean, wow. This is awesome.”

 

“I thought you might,” Mycroft chuckled.

 

It was their third date, and Greg had to force himself not to gawk at the sight of the restaurant Mycroft had booked a reservation at.  It was the kind of place he would never give a second thought on his own.  Of course, it suited the younger man perfectly. The staff even knew him. Greg wondered if this kind of thing would ever not surprise him.

 

A noise from Mycroft’s mobile pulled them out of their conversation.  It was with an annoyed sigh that the man glanced down and pulled it out. Greg watched quietly, chewing on his sirloin.  It was the following grimace as the man read whatever the text said that Greg’s brow furrowed.

 

“I am deeply sorry,” Mycroft sighed, setting his napkin up on the table. “I need to go.  An… emergency has come up.”

 

“Work?” Greg asked, straightening a bit in his chair. Mycroft shook his head.

 

“No,” he frowned. “Sherlock.”

 

“Do you need-“

 

“I can handle it,” Mycroft said gently, standing. “Please, stay and finish your meal.  It would be a waste if neither one of us could enjoy it.”

 

“I can hardly enjoy it as much by myself,” Greg pointed out.

 

“Even so,” Mycroft said, walking over to him. Greg managed a soft smile as the man squeezed his shoulder affectionately. “Please, stay and finish your sirloin. The check is covered so get anything else you might want.  I wish I didn’t have to leave.”

 

“It’s okay,” Greg said, setting his hand over Mycroft’s. “I understand.  Call me if you need any backup.”

 

“I will make this up to you.”

 

“Just go,” Greg chuckled. “Take care of ‘im.”

 

Mycroft nodded, and they shared a fond look before having to leave.  Greg let out a breath. No matter how much he understood, that didn’t change the fact that it did suck sitting there alone now. He doubted this would be their only date interrupted or cancelled by Sherlock or something work-related for either of them.  He was surprised it hadn’t happened before now.

 

He was a grown man.  There was nothing to sit there and feel sorry about himself for. So, clearing his throat, he got to work on his sirloin again.  Keeping in mind that Mycroft said the check was covered, he splurged a bit and ordered another bottle of wine and some dessert.

 

He flashed a smile when a couple tried to give him a pitying look.  There was no sense in that. He was bummed Mycroft had to go because he’d been looking forward to the date, but things happened. He couldn’t help but be concerned about Sherlock, wondering if the stupid younger Holmes had gone on another bender and desperately hoped they weren’t going to be dealing with another OD anytime soon… Mycroft never contacted him, though, so whatever it was, it was getting handled.

 

He was roused from sleep later that night with movement on his bed.  Greg froze, before shooting up and ready to deck whoever it was… until he realized it was Mycroft. He blinked sleepily and rubbed at his eyes, barely biting back a yawn.

 

“Mycroft?” he asked, his voice still rough with sleep. “Everything okay?”

 

“Everything is fine,” Mycroft nodded, sitting next to him on the bed.  His suit jacket and waistcoat were both gone, leaving him in just trousers and a white shirt. It was quite a lovely sight. Greg ran a hand through his messy hair and sat up a bit straighter.

 

“So what’s up?” he asked, starting to yawn again.

 

“I said I would make it up to you,” Mycroft said, as if that statement explained it.  Greg raised an eyebrow.  The younger man blinked, and smiled. “So I came to stay the night.  And took tomorrow off.  We can spend the day together.”

 

“We…” Greg started, gaping.  He hadn’t planned to do anything except laze about the house. Now his boyfriend was sitting in bed with him, saying they were spending the day together.

 

“That is, if you weren’t doing anything,” Mycroft said slowly.

 

“Oh please, like you wouldn’t know,” Greg chuckled. “No, that sounds lovely.  Is Sherlock okay?  Was it drugs?”

 

Mycroft wrapped an arm around Greg, shifting them so that they were both lying down.  Wrapping both arms around him, Mycroft pulled him closer and began stroking his hair.

 

“I will tell you tomorrow,” he whispered. With a content sigh, Greg smiled and closed his eyes. “For now, Gregory, just sleep.”

 

It ended up being one of his best sleeps in months. He only hoped that it was the beginning of a more common occurrence.  He had a feeling he could get used to sharing a bed with Mycroft, and that was a thrilling thought.


	362. I Don't Want To Hide

The arrangement had been logical and made sense. A man of his position, for whatever bizarre reason, gained leverage in certain situations than being a single man. It was this reason that Mycroft had orchestrated a marriage with his right-hand woman, Anthea.

 

To call her an assistant would demean everything that she was.  She was hardly an assistant, or a PA, or anything else people would have originally preferred to try calling her.  She was a bodyguard, she was a partner; she was invaluable.  It was a complicated string of events and some undercover work that had originally forced their hand and had them putting up the ruse that they were dating.

 

Mycroft didn’t have to do undercover work too often, but when he did, it became the easiest way to have them close to each other. It was fascinating how people could let their guard down around “other couples”, something that initially surprised Mycroft, and he was rarely surprised.

 

After a while, the only natural progression was to state an engagement, and then a wedding.

 

They cared for one another, of course, but as colleagues.  Mycroft could even admit that they were friends.  However, there was hardly romantic interest between the two of them. After all, Mycroft was gay, and Anthea was… whatever she felt like at the time.  She always preferred never to bring labels into it, or at least divulge any labels.

 

Their lack of actual interest in each other caused the two of them to get certain fulfillments elsewhere.  They were both incredibly discreet about the men they slept with, though neither of them set up arrangements frequently enough to ever catch anyone’s attention.  Once or twice a month at its most frequent, a night or weekend filled with release and relaxation that could keep them sane.

 

Everything began to change the day Mycroft met Gregory Lestrade.

 

The Detective Inspector was witty, charming, and incredibly good at his job.  He was one of the sharpest and quickest officers of the Met that Mycroft had ever met. His smile was radiant, his laugh even more so, and he took his job seriously; staying long after others had left and getting in even earlier.

 

They met through mutual interest: Mycroft’s younger brother Sherlock.  It was perhaps the best unintentional thing Sherlock had ever done for Mycroft. He was drawn to the man, thinking about him quite frequently after their first meeting and finding a desire to come up with as many reasons as possible to keep up their meetings.  Thankfully, Sherlock helped do that job for him, with as much as he got in trouble or ended up tangled in homicide cases.

 

For the first time, his arrangement was proving to cause an issue.  To the outside world, he and Anthea were happily married.  It was only a select few that knew the true nature of their relationship. So for Mycroft to be caught courting a man, it could cause trouble.  Suddenly, this arrangement wasn’t working as well anymore.

 

He was not a romantic person. He did not care for acts of love, or the absurdity of courtship.  But Gregory… He wanted to take the man out to dinner, go on… _dates_ with him.  He wanted Gregory on his arm, and he wanted to show him off. The man was attractive and charismatic and Mycroft was smitten.

 

It had been an interesting, complicated thing to navigate when Mycroft finally admitted his true feelings to Gregory. The man assumed him to be married. Naturally.  So he had to explain everything, doing so eagerly in the hopes that something would come out of it.  The end of the conversation had them snogging in the backseat of Mycroft’s car like teenagers, so he supposed that was as good a sign as any.

 

“I don’t want to do this in secret anymore,” Mycroft sighed, admitting what had been weighing on his heart for a while now. The bed shifted as Gregory turned closer, curling up against his side, and laying his head on Mycroft’s chest. They were both still naked, neither of them bothering to get out of bed after collapsing ten minutes ago, the bed sheet tangled around them from their lovemaking.

 

“I don’t mind,” Gregory whispered, tracing light circles across his chest.  Mycroft slid his fingers into gray hair and huffed out a chuckle. Of course he didn’t. He was selfless and understood the need for Mycroft’s arrangement.  He didn’t deserve this man, not truly.  But he would never question how lucky he was to get him in his life.

 

“I know you don’t, Gregory, but I do,” Mycroft pointed out, pressing a kiss into his hair.  He could feel Gregory humming. “I am not ashamed of you, of us. I want you on my arm.”

 

“I never thought you were ashamed,” Gregory said, lifting his head and gazing down at him. “Never.”

 

“I still…”

 

Mycroft was silenced with a finger being pressed against his mouth.

 

“You’ll figure it out,” Gregory whispered. “I have faith in you.”

 

He leaned in for a kiss, and Mycroft returned it slowly and passionately.  Gregory had faith in him.  If anyone could figure it out, Mycroft could.  He had more than determination behind him.  He had love. And as he and Sherlock always said: Love was a much more vicious motivator.


	363. Favorite Article of Clothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this post by mydwynter, part of his infamous Ask Greg and Mycroft series on Tumblr: http://mydwynter.tumblr.com/tagged/ask-greg-and-mycroft

There was a time where Greg would freak out and dig through every closet and drawer in attempts to find something to wear that didn’t have wrinkles, stains, or faded colors.  He would avoid jeans and his rattier, more comfortable t-shirts. He shut a door on his hoodies because _those_ were out of the question. He’d never cared about his appearance that much, in all honestly, and especially not his clothing as long as he was comfortable.  That was before Mycroft Holmes, though.

 

Mycroft: a man who had a new three-piece suit on every time Greg saw him.  No matter what time of day or night he saw him, Greg could never see the slightest thread or wrinkle out of place.  He clearly expected perfection, and achieved it every time.

 

That mentality became much more relaxed as they grew to care for one another.  It was amazing how having every article of clothing ripped off you and tossed across a room could really put your clothing choices into perspective. He still preferred to dress a bit nicer, just because it was something he had grown used to, but it soon became clear that his casual stuff could come in handy too.

 

The day Greg finally wore jeans around Mycroft, the younger man could hardly take his eyes off Greg’s arse.  He pretended that he wasn’t constantly staring, and that just made even better.  He might have played up his movements a little after that, smirking at the soft, interested noise it drew from Mycroft, before the man had clearly had enough and grabbed hold of Greg’s belt loop.  He was tugged over roughly after that, practically falling onto Mycroft’s lap and pulled down for a very heated kiss.

 

So Mycroft had a thing for Greg’s casual clothes; the ones he wore when he didn’t have work and press and professionalism to worry about.  It had surprised him at first, admittedly.  It had been a very pleasant surprise, though.  Suddenly dressing casually had much more significance than it ever had, if only for the way Mycroft adored it.

 

After a while, he began to learn which pieces of clothing Mycroft couldn’t get enough of.  There was a particular pair of jeans that hugged his waist just right that made the man’s eyes darken.  There was an Arsenal jersey, surprisingly, that Mycroft loved running his fingers across. Then, there was a pullover Greg had gotten for Christmas a few years back – dark brown with thin khaki trim around the neck and sleeves – that drove the man _wild_.

 

“You’re wearing that pullover,” Mycroft growled as he walked into the flat.  Greg smirked, taking a step back and nodding.

 

“I am,” he said, loving the hungry look Mycroft was giving him.  He never before thought an article of clothing could inspire such lust, but here they were, and he bloody loved it.

 

“You know what that pullover does to me,” Mycroft continued, pressing close and running his hands up Greg’s sides, squeezing his hips gently.

 

“I do,” Greg whispered, gazing at him.

 

“You do it on purpose, Gregory.”

 

“So what if I do?” Greg asked, pressing closer. “What are you going to do about it?”

 

Mycroft’s response came in the form of a rough kiss, pushing Greg backwards until he was pressed against the wall. They panted into each other’s mouths, gripping at each other for dear life.

 

“The way it forms to your body,” Mycroft muttered, beginning to kiss down Greg’s neck.  The older man tilted his head to the side and sighed, shivering as his skin was bit gently. “Tight but not absurdly so.  I can just make out the contours of your arm muscles, I can see the expanse of your chest… Amplified by know just how it looks underneath.  All of it for me to enjoy…”

 

“So enjoy it,” Greg gasped as Mycroft bit down on his collarbone.

 

“I’m not taking the pullover off,” Mycroft informed Greg as he was pulled off the wall and pushed in the direction of the sitting room. “Just so you are aware.”

 

“I was counting on it,” Greg said, biting his lip.

 

Mycroft’s fingers were already making quick work of Greg’s trousers, eyes constantly running back and forth across his torso. Greg wasn’t sure he’d ever fully understand the appeal of the garment.  But _God_ he would never question it. Not when it had Mycroft’s desire taking over.

 

Next time, he was tempted to wear it out in public. See just how well Mycroft could restrain himself until they were alone.  He could only imagine… but for now, he was completely focused on the way Mycroft’s hands were making his whole body tremble, and how each perfect, hard thrust made him gasp and groan underneath him.

 

 


	364. Turning Silver

When Mycroft first met and fell for Gregory, they were both young and so surprisingly different that it was difficult to believe that were drawn to each other at all.  Mycroft had aspirations and paths already built, already working towards the government job he was going to have.  He knew twelve languages fluently, always dressed as impeccably as possible, and carried an umbrella with him everywhere.  He was smarter than everyone he met, and that wasn’t arrogance speaking. That was just the truth.

 

Gregory was punky and worked in a music shoppe. He played guitar and rode a motorcycle, donning leather, loose shirts and football jerseys, and tattered jeans. His boots were scuffed and worn and yet he always wore them.  He was crass and ridiculous, and Mycroft fell for him.

 

Gregory had a smile that made Mycroft’s breath stop. He had spiked black hair that Mycroft loved to play with.  He had tattoos that Mycroft would trace with his finger as they were stretched out in bed together.  He had never bothered to form an attachment before, but with Gregory, he didn’t want anything less.

 

They had hard times, of course. They had some of the most earth-shattering fights, wouldn’t see each other for days, and would make up with some equally earth-shattering sex.  They supported each other, enjoying the amazing times and getting each other through the hard times.  Family member deaths, Mycroft’s little brother and his drug abuse, job promotions and job losses, travel… They knew everything about each other and held it close to their hearts.

 

Now, here it was, almost thirty years later and they were still together.  Happily married, Mycroft had never known such bliss.  They grew up together.  They experienced shifts in personalities and watched each other age.  As odd as it sounded, Mycroft found this particular aspect especially endearing.

 

His husband was almost fifty, and the man was having a bit of an age crisis.  It was not his first and Mycroft doubted it would be his last.  It was both amusing and incredibly inaccurate. He shook his head and chuckled as Gregory stood in front of the mirror, fretting over his hair. Again.

 

“I’m glad you find this hilarious,” Gregory mumbled, running fingers through his silvery hair slowly. “I find it far from. Christ, Myc, I’m almost fifty. Look at me.  There’s barely an ounce of black left.  My back is getting worse.  I’m old.”

 

“Older, perhaps,” Mycroft pointed out. “Gregory, come to bed.”

 

“Dunno why you’d want me to.”

 

“Now you know that’s completely foolish,” Mycroft said, setting his mobile aside and turning to face his husband more. “We’ve been together for how long now, Gregory?  Almost thirty years.  I cannot fathom how you seriously believe I would want to go anywhere, or think poorly of you in any way.”

 

“Yeah well, you’re married to me, you’re obligated to try and find me attractive,” Gregory countered, but thankfully turned away from the mirror and climbed into bed.  Holding out an arm, Mycroft tugged the older man close and smiled as he curled into him.

 

“Would you allow me a moment to discuss something?” Mycroft asked gently, slender fingers stroking Gregory’s hair slowly.

 

“Mmhmm,” Gregory hummed, nuzzling into Mycroft’s chest.

 

“When I met you, your hair was pitch black and you wore leather like a second skin,” he said, pressing his nose into Gregory’s hair and kissing softly. “Your abs were solid enough to eat off of, and I think we both recall how many times I took advantage of that.”

 

Greg snorted, laughing softly and tightening his arm around Mycroft’s waist.

 

“We grew up, you joined the Met, the punky roughness softened,” he continued, closing his eyes and smiling. “Over these decades, we have both changed in many ways, including our bodies. That comes with age.”

 

“Yeah it does,” Gregory mumbled.

 

“I am not done,” Mycroft said, smiling softly. “I am lucky for a lot of reasons, Gregory.  So many of them are because of you.  One of these many, many reasons is the fact that I got to watch you age. I got to watch your hair turn silver. It has been one of the best, most beautiful transformations I have ever head the pleasure of witnessing.”

 

Silence fell between them for a moment, until Gregory pushed himself up.  Mycroft opened his eyes again, watching his husband staring at him, lips parted.

 

“You…”

 

Mycroft reached out and cupped his cheek, smiling and rubbing gently.

 

“Personally, I find you to be like the finest of wines, Gregory,” he whispered, smiling brightly. “Watching you age has been a privilege I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. People call it distinguished? I call it irresistibly sexy.”

 

Gregory broke out into a grin as well, and Mycroft watched his self-consciousness fade away.  He returned the smile and pulled the older man back in to kiss him sweetly.


	365. Year's End

Greg took a deep breath as he walked out of the kitchen, two glasses of champagne in his hands.  He glanced around the sitting room with a smile on his face. The clock read 11:31p. Not long now.

 

Mycroft glanced up at him from where he was sitting in a chair, a book in hand.  The telly was on and the sound was down, showing footage of people cheering and dancing and celebrating. Midnight hadn’t hit yet but people had been drinking and partying for hours already.  It was always such a big event.  Greg remembered being one of those people. Greg remembered the wild parties and huge hotel rooms and insane fireworks.  Well, for the most part, he remembered.  He’d definitely ended up blacking out a few times from how drunk he’d gotten.

 

That was a long time ago, though, and he was much younger then.  He hadn’t done that kind of thing in a long time, and he had no interest of doing it ever again. Instead, he gazed at his amazing husband, watched as his two daughters slept on the sofa, and thought about his and Mycroft’s son sleeping upstairs in his crib.

 

“Gregory?” Mycroft asked softly, having stood up and set his book aside.  The younger man strode across the room, a soft smile on his face, and he stopped in front of Greg.

 

“Hmm?” he hummed, blinking and smiling back.

 

“You were off somewhere else,” Mycroft commented, raising his eyebrows curiously.

 

“Nah, not really,” Greg said, shaking his head. He handed one of the glasses over. “Just thinking.  Right here.”

 

Mycroft tilted his head but remained silent, nodding and reaching out with his free hand to thread their fingers together. Greg squeezed once their hands were joined, wanting to go ahead and take a sip of his champagne, but he refrained. He’d poured those in preparation for the ball drop.  It was something he usually insisted on and Mycroft went along with humorously.

 

“This was a good year,” he commented out of the blue once they’d walked over towards their chairs.  Mycroft glanced back at him.

 

“Indeed it was,” he agreed, nodding. “For the most part.”

 

“Well, sure, a lot of crappy stuff happened too,” Greg shrugged, pointedly _not_ thinking about the terrorist threat Mycroft had been under back in April while he’d been overseas for a conference. “But the good outweighed it. I got a promotion, we started the year officially married, and most importantly, Oliver came into our lives.”

 

“Yes, no contest the best thing to have happened,” Mycroft whispered, setting his glass down on a small table. He took Greg’s and set it down as well, and then wrapped his arms around his torso and pulled him close.

 

“You have been an amazing father,” Greg said, gazing up at his husband and resting his hands on the man’s hips.

 

“If you say so,” Mycroft muttered.

 

“I _know_ so,” Greg grinned. “Trust me, I’ve plenty of experience.”

 

He nodded back behind them, where Elizabeth and Abby were lying.  Mycroft gazed over at them affectionately, chuckled, and leaned in to press his lips against Greg’s forehead.

 

They stood like that for a while, before one of them began swaying ever so slightly.  Neither one of them could really say who started it, but after a few seconds, they pressed closer to each other and moved around the space. Greg pressed his face into Mycroft’s neck and breathed deeply.  They were dancing without music; they didn’t need music.

 

Greg began to lose track of time, only being pulled out of his blissful trance when the host of whatever New Years celebration they’d put on began announcing preparation for the drop.  He blinked and stopped them, pulling back to glance at the telly.

 

“It’s almost time,” he announced, squeezing Mycroft’s hips before pulling away.

 

“Should we wake Elizabeth and Abigail?” Mycroft asked, walking over and sitting in his chair again.  Greg regarded them for a moment before shaking his head.

 

“Nah, let them sleep,” he decided, picking up their champagne again. “May I join you?”

 

“I would be disappointed if you did not.”

 

Carefully, Greg climbed sideways onto Mycroft’s lap. His husband took the glasses from him while he adjusted, resting one arm across Mycroft’s shoulders and taking his drink back with the other.  They fell into silence as they began truly paying attention to the programme for the first time that night.

 

Greg counted along with everyone on the telly. Mycroft just smiled. As the ball dropped and people were cheering and shouting Happy New Year, they turned towards each other and leaned in, kissing slowly.  As they pulled away, they toasted, clinking their glasses together gently before drinking.

 

“Thank you for another amazing year, Mycroft,” Greg said once they were done.

 

“No Gregory, thank you,” Mycroft countered, sliding his fingers through Greg’s hair slowly, gazing up at him.  The way he looked at Greg, like he was his entire world, always took the older man’s breath away. “For everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are so many people I want to thank and so little time. I cannot possibly name you all. If you read this story and gave it kudos, thank you. If you reviewed, thank you. If you reviewed all the time, THANK YOU. A huge thanks to everyone who participated in the guest writer spots I did earlier in the year. I just... I didn't know I'd make it to the end. I wasn't sure. But here we are. I hope you all had as much fun getting here as I did. I love all of you. So much.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [365 Days of Johnlock (with Mystrade and Anthooper)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3091694) by [ThatWeirdFangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatWeirdFangirl/pseuds/ThatWeirdFangirl)




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